


The Thrill of the Hunt

by vayesthetic



Category: Dreamwastaken, GeorgeNotFound - Fandom, dreamnotfound - Fandom
Genre: Dream is hunting George, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, George? we'll see, Letters, Light Angst, M/M, Manhunt - Freeform, Minecraft mechanics with realism, They aren't enemies long??, his mask is scary, if I was being hunted by a guy in that mask I would simply die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vayesthetic/pseuds/vayesthetic
Summary: ❝ So, why did you chase me? ❞❝ The thrill of the hunt. ❞-In which predator and prey become more through unique circumstances.A few things to get out -There will be no smut. These are real people and I do not intend to make them, myself, or anyone else uncomfortable.I have made sexual innuendos but none to be taken seriously. This said, I don't care if sexual jokes are made when aimed as a continuation of those innuendos but remember these are real people, try not to be too weird about the shipping of them.Thank you for reading, I appreciate it :)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 99
Kudos: 132





	1. o ne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With what almost seemed to be an excited skip in his step, the stranger traversed over to George. He never spoke anything until his last moment of getting the adrenaline pumping throughout George's body. After walking over to the smaller man, the stranger took his sword and put it under George's chin before he could react. The result of said action was a small slit that bled right in the crevice where his neck met his head. As soon as the blood touched the man's sword it lifted from his hands up in a vibrant blue explosion of light. When George could regain his sense of sight, the man was leaned on his heel, mask tilted down on George. The void black dots that were meant to be the eyes of the mask were looking down on him as if he were a feast waiting patiently to be devoured before becoming cold. "Run," the stranger had chuckled and George needed no other invitation to leave than that. He had pushed himself onto his feet and bolted for the forest sitting diagonally from the two. The stranger was hot on his heels in about ten minutes after he'd started running.

George was in trouble. He had never been in as much trouble as he was in currently. A crazed man was chasing him for what? The thrill? The kill? The skill? He couldn't be sure what purpose there was for chasing him. George didn't know how he was continuing his run any more than he had. It had been an hour already of this grueling game of cat and mouse. George despised the fact that he was very much so the mouse in such a situation. The situation he was in confused him to no extent between the insane man hunting him and the world he had no recollection of before he was being thrown into the game. He had been even more terrified when he awoke to the stranger sitting across from him with a blue, shining sword. His heart had skipped a beat at the smirk that spread across the lips of the other man. A mask sat over his eyes and nose, keeping all of his face anonymous besides his mouth.

With what almost seemed to be an excited skip in his step, the stranger traversed over to George. He never spoke anything until his last moment of getting the adrenaline pumping throughout George's body. After walking over to the smaller man, the stranger took his sword and put it under George's chin before he could react. The result of said action was a small slit that bled right in the crevice where his neck met his head. As soon as the blood touched the man's sword it lifted from his hands up in a vibrant blue explosion of light. When George could regain his sense of sight, the man was leaned on his heel, mask tilted down on George. The void black dots that were meant to be the eyes of the mask were looking down on him as if he were a feast waiting patiently to be devoured before becoming cold. "Run," the stranger had chuckled and George needed no other invitation to leave than that. He had pushed himself onto his feet and bolted for the forest sitting diagonally from the two. The stranger was hot on his heels in about ten minutes after he'd started running.

The forest was unlike any that George had seen before to his knowledge. He was off put by all of the thick leaves and huge trunks of the trees. The somewhat brown dull yellow in the bark hinted at the fact that the tree was a dark brown despite George never having known the color. He connected colors through what he had been told or what he had seen through video games. He could infer the leaves and grass were the normal color of green.

Another peculiar thing about this specific forest was the fact that there were mushrooms. Huge mushrooms that reached towards the light past the tops of the dark trees. Two different types of mushrooms could be seen, one that was what he could assume was red speckled with dots of white and one that consisted of a neutral color spread throughout it. The mushrooms gave no magical aura as expected with their size. Instead they held their heads to the sky in hopes of one day pushing toward the top of the looming trees that kept them from doing so. Some looked to be wilted from years of work going to waste. The ones that looked so void of any motivation to continue living gave off a sort of loneliness that gripped George's heart and wrung it at the sight. 

Occasional flowers peaked around the corners of trees or hung around the bases of roots that outstretched in unusual angles. They were blue and George found that he liked the look of them. The petals grew closer to the ends of the stems and bloomed to look like a frilled lizard threatening any challenger entering its territory. The grass was overgrown and pricked at his ankles through his socks but it complemented the fantastical look of the forest it had chosen to plant itself in. The light wiggling its way into the holes in the leaves basked everything under it in dazzling patches.

The forest would be an enjoyable sight if he had arrived under natural circumstances. George couldn't figure out what the end goal of this was for him. Was there a certain place that he needed to reach in order for him to be free? His amnesia pertaining to everything as a whole forbid him from being able to formulate any sort of plan. His mind couldn't fathom what was currently happening to him. He didn't have a clue as to what he was supposed to do. The man on his trail was very obviously an experienced hunter, whether he normally hunted humans or not George couldn't be sure. In the moment it definitely didn't seem appropriate for George to turn around and ask. Then again, the man no longer had the sword he slit George with to his knowledge. But who was George to say that the stranger couldn't just strangle him?

George was physically smaller than the other male who had both a height and width advantage over him. His height gave him an advantage when running through lower trees but not much of one. He was of average height in males, he was still slowed as well by the low branches and leaves. Running through the trees wouldn't save him forever and once the adrenaline wears off he won't be able to push through the exhaustion. He would need to take advantage of it while he still had the chance. It was the only way he could make it through the night.

His heart was thumping out of his chest as he spotted an oversized tree root that looked as though he could slip under it. His smaller stature would help him in that regard and give him time to find a place to hide until his pursuer passed. George took a sharp turn towards the root, almost getting hit in the face by a low hanging branch. He pushed himself to run that small bit faster to give him time to slip beneath the gnarly and enormous root. His hands brushed against the rough grass that pointed towards the sky in hopes of gaining sun past the shadowing root as he slid underneath it. His landing was rough and the grass was coarse enough to scrape his palm but he stood as soon as he was able to gain his footing back.

From behind him he could hear the disgruntled noise that escaped the man chasing him. This small noise held the feeling of being enticed by George's idea to slip under and away. But now George needed to find a place to hide so he could collect himself and anything that could help him against the other. He had no time to waste listening to the hidden emotions behind the other man that was only interested in having George's head. So he took off in a random direction and hoped he could spot someplace safe he could crawl into without the prying eyes of his predator watching his every move.

He didn't have the opportunity to move long before he could hear the heavy footsteps pick up from where they left off in the near distance.

Like any sane man, the sound made him fear for his life once again as if the thought had temporarily rid itself from his mind in the wake of his ideas unfolding. Once again he found himself striving to push himself further beyond his limits. His body couldn't take much more and he was acutely aware of that. He wasn't used to this much exercise and he needed food desperately. But even with the nagging thoughts of what he _needed_ , he had a much larger need to pursue first and foremost. He needed to slip away undetected if he had any hopes of surviving the night.

He found himself tracing every tree he could with a quick judging eye. Each branch they would stop and trace to the next closest branch in search of a way up into the trees. This seemed to be the most plausible option in his current issue.

Slipping his body to press against a tree with the haste of a bunny panicking in the presence of a wolf, he managed to lift his foot into the elbow of the tree. He continued his climb with the utmost speed fueled solely from adrenaline. The rushed footsteps of the wolf came for the highly aware bunny from below his perched position. Once high enough in the tree, George spotted a limb branching across to another tree. He struggled towards it, the outstretched hands of the tree he was currently in clutching at his every move, seeming as though it was against him leaving it for another. But alas they weren't meant for eachother and George's mission didn't aligned with its wants.

He pawed at the other branch, grasping it firmly and pushing it down to test its weight tolerance. Having determined that it was sturdy enough for him to use on his journey across treetops, George tightened his grip on it and let his legs dangle below him. He hadn't accounted for the sudden rush of the branch drooping beneath the leaves, slapping his face across multiple sharp smaller branches. The surprise brought him to let a tiny yelp of a scream out and his hands to lose their tight hold on the rough skin the arm offered him. His palms were scraped once again and it was made more difficult of a trek up into the safety of the thick leaved top.

George knew the man wasn't far enough behind to be blissfully unaware of his situation. He had yelped and that was enough to attract attention from the other. Any noise was bound to bring the man closer to his location and he was in no situation to be stuck on a lowly hanging branch. He couldn't drop down, the branch was still high enough to hurt his legs or ankles. If either of those were injured he had no slim possibility of getting out of the problem.

No longer could George stay in his mind. A sickening crack sounded from within his direct line of sight. A wooden axe sunk into the start of the branch he was hanging on, splitting the wood from the trunk. George helplessly watched as the remaining attachment ripped from the joint. A final goodbye was waved as the life was taken in front of his eyes. The branch no longer lived to offer him neither support nor safety. He was plummeting into the hands of a killer.

He didn't want to accept his fate but as his landing was softened by a pair of strong arms he could only let out an exhausted choke of a sob. All the running came back to him and he was no longer as light as a feather. He was no longer as nimble, no longer as resilient. His adrenaline had run dry and he was freshly displayed upon a platter for the wolf to devour as he pleased. His body felt like lead and his stomach ached with a disapproving groan. All he could spare to do was look up into the face of the one that had caused his body to dully ache with the worst exhaustion it had ever experienced. His blank stare was met with a black smile on a white background along with two black dots. The dots stared into his soul and he was momentarily awoken by the pure shock he felt at seeing the mask instead of a face. It terrified him even more, dehumanizing the man who now had him within his grasp.

" _Got you_ ," a mouth below the edge of the white smirked with a certain satisfaction that would piss George off if not for his physical inability to _feel_ anything other than tired, shocked, and afraid. No more emotions would front but he couldn't do anything with them if they did. He was so utterly drained but he didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to die yet. He grit his teeth in an attempt to stop himself from showing any weakness towards this psychopath. George glared directly into the emotionless black dots, disgust building deep inside his gut.

" _Fuck you_ ," he spat, letting his disgust wrap around his vulgar words. The smirk on the stranger grew infinitely. George was baffled at not only the fact that this man could smirk even more maliciously but also the reason behind the enlarging.

George couldn't wrap his head around anything the strange man did. This being said, he was unable to predict anything that the stranger could do. He didn't have time to react before he was sent back on his journey towards the forest floor. His back landed directly across a large root that rasped the skin pulled tight against his spine. A pained gasp found its way out of his mouth to the pleasure of the other's ears. He moved to sit up only to be slammed back by a force on his chest. A dark brown boot had met his chest with the only intention of causing the sound to escape him again. The same pained gasp repeated a little louder when the same spot collided with the root that so greedily stood still to allow such torturous actions. George's eyes shot open wide and narrowed at the dark chuckle that emitted from the masked bastard. "What the hell?" George was beyond pissed but he couldn't show much of it. He was shut right up when the boot pressuring his chest twisted his back further down against the root.

"You're not in the position to be speaking back," more of the stranger's weight was shifted into the leg pinning George. The menacing voice held an annoyed grit. "I like that little noise you make so much I might just keep you under me all night."

The sentence could be skewed sinfully and the stranger was well aware of that. George was aware of it too and it brought his stomach to such heightened emotions of abhorrence that he could physically feel the way his stomach churned. It must have shown with the amused chuckle the other let loose.

"Too bad I see you as a potential challenge. Do you know what your goal of this is?" George caught the subtle tilt of the man's head in question.

"No, I would be doing whatever it is right now instead of running the entire day from you," George was entirely rational but his sarcasm dripped from every word. "Congratulations by the way, you caught me for whatever revolting things you want to do," this gained a hearty laugh from the other man.

"I'm not doing anything but enjoying your pained squeaks. Would any sane man hunt someone with no reason?" an eyebrow was quirked under the mask if the man's voice was any indication. George scoffed at this statement.

"You're obviously insane," he grit his teeth. Talking to this man was taking a lot out of him.

"I wouldn't say insane. I haven't known much else than the kill," he leaned down closer to George's face. "That's my goal. I keep whoever appears in check by murdering them. Your job is to kill the one I work for."

"Who's that?" George couldn't deny his curiosity. Why did this man have that job and why was George expected to kill the one who supplied this man his job?

"The Ender Dragon," the man kept close to George, making no indication of moving anytime soon.

"A dragon?" George deadpanned, letting his eyelids drag into a half-lidded annoyance. "You're actually insane."

"You've never heard of her?" there was a genuine inquisitiveness to his words. "She's the most feared in the world."

"Not my world, I don't know where I am but I'm positive there were no dragons in my world," George answered with complete truth despite death calling his name moments before. The man shot up in pure shock, stomping George to the root once again only this time it was an accident. Accident or not, it hurt like hell and George was once again making the strangled noise of pain. The stranger reacted fast, grabbing onto his arm and yanking him to his feet. He had disoriented George who now struggled to stand without stumbling in place.

"Sorry but, you're from another world?" suspicion laced every word besides sorry. George rested a hand on the roughed up skin of his spine.

"I guess... tell me more about this world."

"Ha, you wish. You're just trying to find out exactly how to beat me."

"I think you're forgetting I don't know what to do to get to the dragon. I don't even know how to get materials," George made a face that told the man that George thought he was an idiot for even saying that. The man turned around suddenly to the tree a specific sinister root was connected to.

"Hit it," he looked at George expectantly. George's eyebrows fell and his lips twisted in confusion.

"I'm not punching a tree," he crossed his arms over his chest in protest. The man let out an exasperated groan.

"Just hit it," he motioned to the tree with his hand to indicate just which tree he wanted George to break his knuckles on.

"No," George indignantly refused the command.

"Do you want help or not? Hit it," the man threw his arm out in frustration towards the tree once again.

"How is this helping me? You're going to make my hands useless," he scrunched his nose at the man.

"Hit it!" frustrated words were yelled straight in George's face and he couldn't deny how intimidated he was. He decided then and there that he didn't enjoy when the man raised his voice. Something about the louder, authority riddled tone made him fear punishment.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the tree. He extended his fist and gave the bark a light tap. The other man let out a displeased sound.

"Harder and do it rhythmically," the man instructed. George was preparing mentally to do it harder but a tap on his back startled him out of his preparedness. It was surprisingly gentle to be coming from a murderous individual and it was directly in the small of his back. George focused on the taps and hit the tree accordingly, noticing the rhythm in the taps. He didn't feel the sting he expected to have felt when punching the harsh skin of the tree. He also never expected this harsh skin to start cracking beneath his noncommittal strikes. Yet it did and now the inside of the wood was staring back at him as he continued his rhythmic pummeling. There were at least two spaces that needed to be carved before the tree would meet the ground. "Watch out for when the tree falls. Gravity and all."

The last crack resounded, signaling the tree's last warning before it's top came thundering down through several branches of the surrounding survivors. George, exhausted from previous endeavors, couldn't find it in himself to move despite the horrifying sight of the thick tree falling down towards him. He was tired. He was ready to sleep. All he wanted was to lay down and rest after the events of today.

"Move!" a stern tone, roughly speaking towards George, was tuned out by the fatigued male. He didn't have the energy to gain motivation from a potentially bone-shattering tree falling upon him. But the other man he was near had different motivations and those sparked in such a moment. George was thrown to the ground by a jostling toss, now safe from being crushed. His trance was broken once his head hit the densely packed dirt of the forest floor. A groan of pain trickled from his aching body. The crunch of leaves beneath combat boots got George's eyes to trace back to where he was thrown from. His eyes met the boring black holes of the smiling mask adorned by the wolf. He could feel the pure sadistic rage that surely graced every feature of the face behind it. The man squatted down to the other loosely curled George. By some miracle George was hardly tired after the fear the other struck within his mind. He wanted to crawl away with his newfound emotion, wanted to start his draining run again. But he couldn't move, he was stuck to the ground in shame and fright. An open palm extended towards George at an alarmingly fast rate. The fabric of the smaller man's shirt was balled up in the clamped fist of the other in mere seconds, exposing his stomach to the air surrounding them.

"This is how you repay me for helping you?" the tilt in the other man's head scared George shitless. He couldn't find his words as he stared at the lips of his foe. This was to catch any emotion shown and right now it was twisted into a painful anger. "You're my prey, you don't choose when you die. I decide that," the man had smiled. He had smiled an off the rails kind of smile, one that would show when someone had gone bonkers. "I sure as hell don't want you crushed by anything other than me," the voice of the other was menacing to no extent. George was sure some pain was going to be inflicted upon him by the other but it didn't come. All that occurred was the belligerent shoving of a piece of porkchop into his mouth. After that he was thrust back into the ground by the collar of his shirt.

The porkchop reached his tongue, taste buds clambering for a taste in their hunger. As soon as they got their touch of the meat they were repulsed. George felt his throat close in revolt against the rank taste of it. He instinctively threw his head forward and caught the meat in his hand, spluttering as he did so. He was disgusted in every way. "What the hell...?" he croaked out, fully sitting from the force of his body moving forward due to the need to get the pink meat away from his taste buds.

"Didn't have time to cook it with you completely ignoring my instructions," the insane man stated as he munched on a cooked piece just a few feet from George. "Not my fault you're an idiot."

"I'm not the idiot here," George was frustrated, barely comprehending the taste that was once stuck in his mouth. "You just jammed that raw meat into my mouth without my consent!"

"Phrasing," the man smirked, causing George confusion before it clicked a few seconds later. His face flared red, hot from anger. A chuckle was all his reaction got as response.

"Annoying...." George furiously mumbled beneath his breath, storming up to the furnace sitting close to the other man. He didn't get to put his raw porkchop into the opening as he was cockblocked. By a cock.

"Ah ah ah... you'll have to make your own furnace if you want to cook any food. I was generous enough to give you my meat," the phrasing was intentional and George was close to snapping. It took all he could not to but snapping at this man would end in death. George grit his teeth and shut his mouth before he said anything he would regret.

He went off to get the rest of the wood from the tree he had cut down, making many trips to drop all of it off separately. The entire time he wondered what he was doing that was making it so hard for the predator of the relationship to keep his amusement hidden. Once he was done he turned to the masked man with a less than amused face. The masked man's smile never left his face as he stood and grabbed some wood, reaching over to his bag and putting all of it into it. George watched in wonder, how the hell did his bag do that? The other just giggled at the reaction George's face held. The man had bipolar tendencies, George decided.

"The bags are special," the man reached out to George and grabbed the brown leather satchel he hadn't noticed was slung over his shoulder. The man teaching him the ropes grabbed some more wood and pushed it into George's bag. Before George's eyes the wood disappeared before reappearing to be tucked in one of the many side slots lining the inside of the bag. What the hell, is this magic? "You get the jist, the stuff shrinks into the slots until they reach sixty-four of a certain item. I calculated it myself when I was bored."

"I don't care, this is magic," he shushed the man with his words of him not caring. Why should George care about someone who had the mission of killing him?

"What, no bags like these from your world either?" George shook his head to answer the other man while he tried to figure out how he had missed the satchel being on his back for so long. It didn't allow itself to get snatched on anything during the chase and he was ever so grateful for it's presence seeing what it does. So that was why the masked man had laughed at him.... "Your world is boring."

"Yeah yeah whatever, tell me what I have to do next," George's stomach had groaned in annoyance multiple times since he had stopped being chased. His moments of fear were the only times his mind was taken off the dull hunger that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Craft," the other man shrugged, looking at George expectantly. When George gave a confused look the other man merely sighed before walking closer to him. He firmly grasped George's bag, opening it so George had a full view. He pointed out a section in the middle of the bag that held four slots. "You can use this for small stuff or things that can be made with only the four slots. Like torches," he reached down to his own bag and pulled out two planks of wood along with a small black piece of coal. He set the planks in the slots of the bag, one over the other. Instantaneously sticks were transported to the inside of his bag, settling in one of the 36 designated spaces. The masked man grabbed one of the sticks and put it in a bottom slot before he put the coal on the top, four torches appearing in a slot of George's bag as the product. "And what's really important, a crafting table. It let's you craft more things. Does take up one of your bag's slots but it's needed unless you want to constantly craft more of them with your wood. I wouldn't suggest that when I'm hunting you seriously."

George stayed quiet in response. Half of his silence was due to the concentration he had on the masked man's words while the other half was on the last thing the masked man said. _When I'm hunting you seriously..._ it implied that none of the chase before was ever a _real_ hunt from the other's perspective. George had been petrified when all along he was never going to get killed at the end of the chase. The man hadn't planned to kill him through any of it. If that wasn't him hunting George seriously then what was his actual hunting like? He wasn't using his full skill on George and he'd caught him. George was even more terrified than before. He wouldn't be able to escape the man. He wouldn't be able to escape alive. He didn't have enough skill, he wasn't used to being prey, he barely knew the basics of what he needed to do in this world to survive. He was screwed in all ways.

"Scared?" a gentle brush of hot breath beside his ear snapped him out of his trance. He jumped away from the other, panic-stricken. But there wasn't a smirk on the other's face anymore. It was almost as if he was being serious. George steeled his nerves and clenched his fist at his side.

"You wish," George tried brushing his fear under the rug beneath the masked man's feet but the masked man was standing resolutely to his spot, inhibiting any attempt he could make at hiding that fear that was stuck within his stomach. George turned away from him so he didn't have to look at the reaction. He knew his fear was sniffed out by the other male.

"I can tell when someone's afraid," the man came closer to George, placing his hands on his shoulders from behind. The contact sent shivers of trepidation down his spine. He felt as the masked man leaned his face forward into George's shoulder near his ear. A whisper of a touch traced his hip as the man moved his hand down from his shoulder and pressed closer against George's back. The warm breath that swept over the top of George's ear increased his fear. "But that won't stop me from using dirty tricks to trap you."

With that the man pulled away from George and whisked himself away to the place his furnace stood. He sat himself against the log that was there, throwing something inside of the furnace to cook. George couldn't move from the spot he was at. He could barely glance at the masked man who now was as passive as a caterpillar. George didn't understand the other male and it terrified him. Everything was so random. He wanted the predictability back.

As soon as George could move from his spot he slowly ran his hand along his waist where the touch of the other lingered. He took a deep breath before looking back at the eyes of the smiling mask. The other took that as a signal to come explain everything else. He did so gracefully, elucidating every detail of crafting with the table to George. He showed some simple tool recipes as well as the furnace recipe to George before showing that there was a book on the side of the table that had recipes inside of it. George used everything he could to his advantage, looking through the recipes he thought would be beneficial to memorize for the next time he would be on his own with a murderous individual searching high and low for him.

So George made a set of stone tools, got coal, and made a furnace. The other man had calmly watched as George progressed, not moving to make any progress himself. He was leaned over his furnace, mask trained on George as he moved between areas collecting different stuff. The murderous intent he always seemed to have didn't show as he amiably watched the other. He didn't give the impression of a stalker and instead appeared like a friend watching his own friend in a supportive, comfortable silence. The constant eyes on George made him uncomfortable though and he found himself highly strung under such a stare.

After George cooked his porkchop he silently cheered to himself, gaining a small, muffled laugh from the masked man. George didn't dwell on the laugh and started stuffing his face with the bland meat. The blandness didn't bother George, he was so hungry that he couldn't care less about the taste unless it was raw. He was even more hungry from exerting so much energy getting materials and learning recipes along with committing them to memory. Even now George was looking through the recipe book while he munched on his porkchop. He had finished the porkchop too quickly and was still hungry even through the porkchop. He looked at the furnace that only housed coal, no life lighting the empty stone. His eyes held strong dismay at the feeling of his unsatisfied stomach.

"Good job," a hand awkwardly sat on his head and harshly ruffled George's hair, knocking something off of his head. His eyes followed the sound of something softly hitting the grass. White clout goggles sat right in front of his foot. They'd been there the whole time too? His attention went back to the man who'd ruffled his hair. George eyed him in confusion. Why was he still being friendly at random times? Another raw porkchop was thrown into his furnace by the strange masked man. "Take advantage of me being normal while you can," a sort of sadness was situated in the man's voice. George could only ponder on what that sadness could possibly mean. It was barely there but George could swear it was.

"Nice of someone who's going to kill me," George looked back to the furnace that was now lit with a new purpose to cook the raw meat settled above it's flames. There was a sigh from beside him but it was small, hidden under the huff of air that came with it.

"Yeah..." the masked man was close to George after having ruffled his hair. He was standing with his arm residing as close to George as it could without making physical contact with him.

That night George's stomach was satisfied and he slept close to the masked maniac. He had a bad feeling for what would occur in the morning but he had been given the run down of what he needed to do ranging from going to the nether for blaze rods and trading for ender pearls with piglins to how to get eyes of ender and what they were used for, getting to the end and defeating the dragon. It was like the masked man wanted someone to beat him in this game of cat and mouse. Maybe he wanted the dragon killed so he could be free from the murder expected of him. The sadness to him was something George had a forbidden curiosity of. All he knew was that he needed to be prepared for the next day.


	2. tw o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You," the confusion was still evident in his voice but it wasn't small or scared anymore. George felt relief wash over him. Why did he feel that way? "Why are you still here?" 
> 
> "I was leaving a note, that's why I touched your mask. I didn't mean to wake you. Read the note after I leave, let me get some distance between us. Please even if it's just 20 minutes," George started with a soft tone that slowly progressed into one of pleading. 

George's eyes were tormented by the bright shining of the sun piercing through the leaves above him. He stayed quiet, sitting up from the bed his supposed foe had made for the both of them. They were separate beds and placed a few feet apart but they were close. George didn't want to give anything about his movement away to the man who was so close. He shuffled quietly in order to leave his predator in mystery. He wanted to sneak off without being chased instantly. 

The day before he'd stuffed the furnace and anything else he had made inside of his bag so he could leave without any second thoughts. It gave him more time to create a distance between the two of them. Being the prey gave him a huge disadvantage that he wanted to even out. Deep down he knew there was no hope for him to create an even battlefield between them for lack of skill when compared to the other but that didn't stop him from attempting to get it the closest he could. He was told many things by the other that helped immensely and gave him knowledge of what he needed to do. It crossed his mind that he could simply not try to kill the dragon at all. If he had no desire to kill her in the first place than it shouldn't be a problem for him to befriend the crazed masked man and live peacefully. But that idea was overruled by another thought. This one came to his home world, how would he get back if not by entering the end portal? He wasn't educated past the brief descriptions and tips given to him but he figured there was no other way of returning back to where he came from. It was a depressing thought, to be stuck in a game such as this, fighting for his life and being hunted just so that he could go home. How had he gotten himself in this situation in the first place?

George was feeling sad so he decided that he wanted to make a smile that matched the forever happy mask of the other appear on the man's face. He wouldn't do it directly and he wouldn't get to see the grin but he was up for it anyway. He stalked off to find some sugar cane and to kill a squid. He took out his stone sword, wanting to be ready in case anything dangerous was in this world. He knew of blazes, endermen, and the Ender Dragon. That was all so he figured some creatures he wasn't told of were lurking around the world. Not to mention if the wolf woke the bunny would be running with no hope for progress during the day. 

He easily found his materials that he needed close to where he'd come from. The sugar cane sat along the sandy land beside a lake that housed many squid. He walked over to the sugar cane, running his hand along the slick stalk to savor the feeling. After having his fair share of touching he pounded the bottom of the sugar cane with his fist, watching it tumble down around his feet. The stalks sounded their last living melody as they tumbled to the ground beside George's feet. Satisfied with their dying breath, George grabbed the sugar cane and stuck it into his bag, ogling at the way it shrunk in front of his eyes. He had a feeling he would never get used to seeing such a thing happen.

Next were the squids. Swimming peacefully in the lake were the oversized cephalopods with their elongated, squishy bodies. They had their own vibe to them, nothing around them seeming to bother them in the slightest. They seemed to have a certain synchronization to their movements, matching with each other effortlessly. George's eyes scanned the shore for the closest one, soon meeting the sleek body of his prey. Getting his fill of predator energy, George stepped into the water with no care for the way it seeped through his clothes and filled his shoes. He focused in on his unsuspecting victim, stalking through the water in pursuit of them. As he progressed the water licked hungrily at the hem of his shirt, eager to coat him completely in itself. The water wasn't getting it's satisfactory wish before George was slicing into the skin of the oblivious squid. Blood spiraled up from the gash, fluttering around and painting the water. Death manifested in the large, blank black eyes of the creature but George couldn't feel sympathy for it. He was in need of it's materials and he didn't think past that. If he over thought it he would eventually feel that sympathy and maybe even empathy for the death of such prey. After death the squid fizzled away into a cloud of smoke, taking George off-guard. It was gone and all that was in place was a plump sack of ink. George grabbed the ink and put it into his bag, letting it shrink into its slot. 

He turned on his heel and started to walk away, slicing a chicken to death and plucking it's feather off the ground for it's new home within his bag. He continued on his way, using his memory and crafting table to make paper out of the sugar cane. He traveled through the forest with a newfound ease as his mind was in a peaceful state. No worry crossed him as he made his way through the gorgeous forest. He saw the beauty in it all. The mushrooms that loomed above him and the trees that did the same. They looked upon him not like he was prey but like he was a natural hunter, a person that could kill with grace and skill. He basked in such a presence, feeling uplifted by it. He felt as though he could defeat even the stranger that was the wolf to his bunny. 

But he wouldn't. He couldn't bring himself to kill the man in his sleep. He could kill a squid sparing no sympathy but it was a different story when it was a person. A person he's talked to nonetheless. He knew the other would not feel the same though and it made a pang of fear strike him. He would be killed in whatever way the other see fit as long as they were in this world. He understood the other, he had a mission to stop George from killing the Ender Dragon and leaving. George couldn't deny that he saw the sense in that mission but he couldn't help but wish it were different. He was alone in a strange world with no support system to stop his racing mind. He was in a dangerous situation with no one to trust and no one to look after him and make sure he didn't die. Many things were going to try to kill him and he couldn't do anything but fight to keep his life. 

As he approached the makeshift home the two had set up, a smile tugged his lips upwards. The masked man was sleeping silently, mask still adorning his face. He was basked in sunlight making him look like an innocent angel fallen into slumber. Although George knew the truth behind the masked man's ways he couldn't help but admire the sight in front of him. He let a small content sigh fall from his lips before sitting down in front of his crafting bench. He pulled the previously crafted paper out of his bag and set it on the top of the table. He then grabbed a feather and the ink sack out of his bag, laying them carefully upon the table. He held the feather between the fingers of his left hand, thinking of any words he could use to start the masked man's day off right. It could discourage him from going full psycho on him if his words were sweet enough. They could leave a bittersweet taste in the other's mouth as he thought of what he had an obligation to do to George. They could make him hesitate to kill George.

So he wrote. He let the feather glide over the paper with a soft application of ink with words he felt were the right ones. He felt as though he was writing to a friend instead of someone with the responsibility to kill him. Thoughts such as these could get him in trouble in the future if he replaced his thoughts with friend when describing the other, he reminded himself. But he made an exception while writing this note. He allowed himself to think of the other as a friend, if not just to have one thought to cure his loneliness. 

_**Good morning :)** _

_****_

__**I just wanted to leave you this to make sure you woke up on a good note. I know that I'm not supposed to treat you as anything other than someone who only thinks of me as their prey but I'm letting myself just this once. I promise I'll stop after this one time. It'll make it more fun for you if I don't put feeling into the chase right?**  
_**Anyway, I just wanted to wish you a good morning since I'll be gone by the time you wake up. I really don't want you to catch up to me. You have so much more skill it's insane. I'm scared of you, you know. But at the same time you seem sad when you talked about me needing to take advantage of you being normal. I can't help but want to fix that but I know it's no use.  
_**Thank you for keeping me company for the first day of me being here. You could've killed me but you didn't. You taught me how to get out and all I need to know so thank you for that. I'll leave you to sleep while I'm gone. Let me just do a little risky thing once before we go back to being predator and prey...**_**_

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

__****

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

**_\- George_ **

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George turned to look at the man in question, still wondering if his words were good enough. He didn't have enough sugar cane for another piece of paper so the words would have to do. He stayed seated as he watched the rise and fall of the other's chest. It was soothing to watch and he subconsciously synchronized their breaths. His mind wandered back to the squids who were doing the same with their swimming. Their relaxed state of effortless connection to one another. It was far out of reach with the only person in front of him and an insane thought to even want it with the other. He was disgusted by how blatantly the other switched his personality upon him. He wouldn't want any kind of connection to him, much less one that was lax and required no struggle. He wanted to struggle to believe he would ever see something more than a murderer towards the other. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

Stuck on those thoughts, he couldn't help but think of where he came from. He still had no recollection of anything to do with his own world. All he knew was that this world he was currently in was far from his own. Did he have anyone with that connection in his own world? An effortless connection that had no chance of fault. He supposed that wasn't possible. Most people only have connections that have many faults. The difference in personalities or even the similarities in personalities between two people were both things that could end up making or breaking that connection. Faults were bound to be in any relationship no matter how strong it may seem. It was frustrating to think about a world he had no memories of. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George stood, letting go of the peace that had fallen over the area with his light shuffling. He was no longer soaked in the water but he was still damp. It now made him uncomfortable compared to the moment he had done it. He was blinded by the need to feel like something other than a helpless mouse pit against a ferocious lion. He wanted to be that lion towards something else and that squid was the unfortunate mouse to him. He checked to see if the ink on the paper was dry now and was pleasantly surprised that it was. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George picked all of his materials back up, not daring to try to pick the bed up due to the closeness of it to the sleeping man. He dabbed some tree sap on the back of his letter and carefully knelt beside the other. He reached above the mask the other wore, securely yet gently pressing down near the top rim of it. It was risky, touching the other's mask in his sleep, but George did it, heart racing rapidly with every breath. He retracted his arm but he didn't get the full length back to his side before a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist with enough force to break it if it was twisted. George couldn't help himself, he let out a genuinely petrified screech as he yanked his arm in the opposite direction of the other's grip. The other sat up quickly, grasp still firmly encasing George's wrist. So much for not waking him up. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"Ah, ah, let-- let go," George's wrist was starting to throb and he could no longer open his hand due to the pressure constricting his blood flow. The other didn't seem to register his words, keeping his grip just as tight. _He could just wake up with this grip?_ George was terrified. He should never have done anything that could interrupt the other's sleep. He was panicking, what was he meant to do in this situation? He couldn't escape the other's hold. "Give me time to make distance between us, please don't kill me right now," George begged for his life. The note he had written hung drearily from the mask, having stayed despite the rush of air it had to endure. It wanted to be read by the other, the words pleading for the eyes of him and him only. The grip he had on George's wrist loosened in the slightest and George seized the opportunity by pulling his wrist away, scrambling to create any sort of distance between them. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"What?" a groggy morning voice called in confusion. His voice sounded small and disoriented. George was struck by surprise, he didn't know how to reply. The masked man seemed to have been scared awake instead of awaken in a murderous instinct because of George's touch. He sounded afraid when the words left him and it made George's heart feel a pang of sadness. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"You're okay, it's just me, I was doing something," George crawled over to the other and grabbed his hand. He felt bad and as though he needed to comfort the other in some way. The other moved his face around as if he were looking. The void eyes of the mask stayed planted to their spot. The note hung between them, still waiting to be gazed upon. The mask stopped looking around when it caught sight of George. A gentle squeeze was returned and a tilt of the masked man's head down indicated that he looked at their hands. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"You," the confusion was still evident in his voice but it wasn't small or scared anymore. George felt relief wash over him. Why did he feel that way? "Why are you still here?" 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"I was leaving a note, that's why I touched your mask. I didn't mean to wake you. Read the note after I leave, let me get some distance between us. Please even if it's just 20 minutes," George started with a soft tone that slowly progressed into one of pleading. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"Okay. Okay, go," the other sounded relieved. There was something else though. Disappointment? No, that wasn't possible. George was hearing things wrong. He gave the masked man's hand one last squeeze before he stood up. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"Thank you," he softly smiled. He was given a sliver of hope by the other and he was going to run with it. "See you when you're trying to kill me."

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

"Yeah..." the other ran a hand through his hair, pulling the piece of paper from his mask after doing so. He held it clutched in his hands that laid in his lap like he depended on it. George didn't notice how desperately the guy's hands were clenched around the edges of the paper as he left their designated set up. George did however notice the darkness beneath the trees and the way speckles of light seemed to cower away from him as he walked along. The leaves crinkled their death beneath his feet and the massive roots pushing through the ground only served as interesting visuals as he made his way along. It felt as though the wind flowing through the leaves was whispering about him and the events that had happened just minutes ago with the masked man. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

Something about the forest was now off-putting. He was no longer comforted by the trees looming above him. They no longer looked over him like he was someone who could end the lives of many creatures. They knew what was coming for him, something much stronger than him. They were aware of what was happening and what had happened already. They saw all, gossiping among each other and spreading it around through the air, carrying it to another in a single rustle. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George felt the loneliness sink further. Everything in the forest was looking down upon him, looking at him as though he no longer belonged and needed to leave. He was no longer welcome in the world and it was sinking in. This morning they had greeted him happily and encouraged his hunting for materials but now they anxiously rustled almost with warning for his ears to catch. It was like they cowered with the masked man's presence. He must feel lonely in this world too. If everything in the world shook with an insane anxiousness such as this in his wake he must be all alone in his own world. They were one in the same. Unwelcome and lonely. George didn't even know what to call him or think of him as. He was nameless in George's mind. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George had bigger problems than what the trees implied around him. He needed to make progress while he still had the chance.

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

He walked on with a determined pep in his step, armor on his mind. He wanted to stand a chance and to do that he would need a full set of shiny, heavy, iron armor. When put against the other man he needed an unfair advantage that he didn't currently have. Yes, he had stone tools but that wasn't much ahead of the wooden tools the other had in his possession. It was easy to gather cobblestone and create better tools. But something told him that he would be given time by the other. All he wishes is that he was able to see the reaction the other had to his message. He had put a name to his face but he didn't have a name to put to the other's mask. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George stumbled beneath a mushroom, having been tripped up by a rock beneath some leaves. His hand met the cool white stem as he caught himself. He looked up and found himself staring into the black abyss of a cave. He inwardly yelled with glee, booking it for the entrance of the cave. He let his hands graze over the stone of the side, a chill reaching his fingertips at the contact. The roughness of it pricked at the pads of his fingers, scraping a tiny piece of skin up. He wasn't bothered and continued on regardless of the tiny prick. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

He took his first step into the chilling atmosphere and grey surroundings. He hesitantly took more steps into the pitch black area, fear bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. He pushed his feelings aside, straining his eyes to find some coal. He hoped to make a torch that he would hold in his free hand the whole time he was inside of the cave. A memory flashed in his head, filling him with gratefulness for his mind for the first time since he got to this foreign world. The masked man had made torches as the first thing when teaching George how to craft. George grabbed one of those four torches in his right hand. Instantly, the end of the torch lit in a blazing fire, encouraging George to hold it further from his face. The surrounding area was now illuminated in a warm glow, light ganging up on the shadows and chasing them back into corners. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George had solved a problem with his memory and now he could see around himself. He cheered silently, a large smile forcing itself upon his face. His eyes scanned around the room, spotting iron ore peeking from the ceiling above. He walked over to the ore and pulled some leftover cobblestone from his bag, towering up until he could reach the ore that called out to him. He replaced the blocks in his left hand with his pickaxe, starting his rhythmic breaking of it. He was on the sixth and last piece when a small noise came from his right. The right side of him opened up to more branching routes of the cave and was pitch black. The continuing mouth of the path stared blankly back at him, ominous blackness crowning it. George bit his lip at the mysterious way the darkness seemed to flicker with the light of his torch. He couldn't see past the bottom of the mouth and it was prickling at his fears of something beyond it. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

The noise was unknown to him, something he'd never heard before. He carefully pulled his sword out, looking down at his bag so he could pull the right thing from it. It was only a split second but it revealed itself to be a split second too long. From the darkness a bow rose and was readied for a shot. The sickeningly ivory fingers of a skeleton brought back the string of it's bow, the lifeless black holes of it's face focusing on the feeble living being before it. With the precision of a master, the skeleton released it's smooth hold on the end of the arrow allowing it to fly through the air. George was the unlucky victim of this arrow and it dug into his side with a particular malice that had him hissing as he stumbled backwards off of his tower of blocks. His side flashed in pain, having him grit his teeth in an attempt to stop any noise from escaping his mouth. His back collided with the ground, enough pain reaching him to have him groan loudly despite his gritted teeth. The time it took him to push himself back onto his feet was just enough for the skeleton to ready another arrow and shoot towards the male. George's breath hitched upon sight of the arrow barreling through the air towards him. It didn't connect with him, grazing his hair ever so slightly as it whizzed past his ear. The whistle of the arrow in his ear was enough to kick his heart into a fast-paced gear. He sucked in a breath, running to shield himself behind the tower of blocks he'd previously made. His pain was momentarily forgotten for the fight between him and the skeleton. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George found it's appearance quite haunting. The holes for eyes void of emotion and life that stared at him with the only objective to kill, the jaw that seemed to lack the basic ability to close, the lean structure of only bones that shouldn't be standing by any logic, and the way it continued to shoot relentlessly even with no view of him. But the skeleton was moving around to try to get a shot at him despite it's oblivious attempts to shoot at the tower alone. It seemed to know what it was doing while also being completely brainless about the same exact thing. The mere concept of it confused George. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

Another arrow bounced off the cobblestone tower, too close for comfort. George wondered if it was ever going to run out of arrows before deciding it was unlikely. There was no way that the skeleton was competent enough to gather arrows itself. The world he was in took pity on it's monsters, giving them the materials for them to defend themselves. He was sure of it. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

Pulling his sword from his bag, he readied himself to run around the tower and jump the skeleton's bones. He waited patiently, listening closely to all the sounds being made. The rubbing of bones coming from the skeleton moving was hollow, the sound of it readying it's bow was not however. It held the promise of another arrow flying forth from the fingers of bone. That arrow was shot and as soon as it had clinked against the cobblestone George was rushing from his hiding spot. His eyes met with the vast ocean of nothingness that was displayed in the eyes of the skeleton. George brought his arm back and swung forth, sword coming into contact with bone and making a dull clink against it. The skeleton was not fazed, continuing it's empty stare straight into his soul. No emotion escaped such lifeless voids as the skeleton's fingers went to load yet another arrow. George panicked at the sight, scared to have the pain of another arrow digging it's way through his skin and into his muscle. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George tore his sword from the bone it had struck, pulling his arm back and swinging another time at the skeleton. This time he was able to tear through one of the bones of the skeleton's ribcage. He didn't stop there though. Time was running short and he needed to think quick. Pushing the wrist of the skeleton back at the expense of his torch clattering to the ground, he pinned it against the rough stone wall behind it. The skeleton didn't seem to know how to counter such an attack, helplessly trying to reach for it's bow with it's other hand. George couldn't feel bad for it. It had attacked him and it was lifeless, there was no need to feel any sympathy for a monster such as this. One without a soul. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

George yanked at it's wrist, tearing it from the joint it had been connected to. The skeleton no longer had a hand or a bow. It was thrown carelessly to the side with no other thought from George. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

He now let the skeleton go, pushing it harshly to the side so he was allowed time to ready his sword. The skeleton clattered to the ground, bones rattling like musical instruments. George readied his sword and held it above his head with both hands, crashing it down straight into the skeleton's skull. The sword impaled the bone, an ear splitting crack resounding with the force put behind the downward swing. But even that wasn't enough to kill it for it had no brain and the skull wasn't where the secrets to it's life came from. The world had a way of life for the skeleton that no trifling human could understand. His sword was stone, it did five attack damage which required four hits and his last hit dealt the finishing punch to the skeleton's life. The body of the skeleton fizzed with a light smoke before disappearing into nothingness. The only items left behind to show the existence of the skeleton at all was a bone and a single arrow. George seethed at the lack of more arrows when the skeleton seemed to have an infinite amount. He sighed heavily, picking the items up before moving slowly back to his tower. He leaned up against it, pulling a cooked porkchop out of his bag. He had had more than one when the masked stranger gave him the other one but he wasn't going to turn down a kindness given to him. He munched on the piece of meat even though he didn't have any appetite for it. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

After finishing the meat he started to feel better, no dull aching pain anymore. He looked down at his side, mentally preparing himself to tear the arrow from where it had lodged itself within his skin. The arrow stood long and impaled inside of him. It stuck out with blood seeping from it, challenging him to tear it from himself. George felt sick just thinking about removing the arrow himself with no one to help. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from making some noise of pain. While he was contemplating how to remove the arrow without rupturing anything or screaming, the arrow itself was disappearing. He didn't notice the way it faded from his vision, faltering to appear at all anymore. He only noticed when he went to grab it and pull it out in one fell swoop. His eyes widened as he had gripped nothing but air. _So that's something that happens I guess_ , George thought with surprise. It would seem the world took slight pity upon humans as well. He only hoped that pity extended more towards him than the masked man. 

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

Once George had recovered completely he finished breaking the sixth piece of iron and the tower that sat as a monument of human interaction. He didn't want anything left behind signaling that he was ever here. No evidence was to be left behind for the wolf that could sniff him out with any little corroboration. The last thing he did was pick his torch up again and allow the light to filter back into the space around him. He sighed in relief, patting his now fully healed side. He had to get further into the cave though and who knew what lay beyond the tiny area he'd already explored. He couldn't decide to not go further as he'd get found by something scarier than anything the cave could offer. This thought sent him into a state of less fear and gave him the courage to take the next step deeper into the cave.

_**_**_****_ ** _ ** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm getting a little better at figuring this site out lol  
> Thank you for continuing to the second chapter <3


	3. thr ee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scribble was located at the name written at the bottom. It was a blob that was smiling like his mask. Dream. That was ironic considering that Dream was quite literally his worst _nightmare_ in this world. The thought made him snicker to himself and the man watching from the elevated entrance to a cave just right of George. What kind of a name was Dream for a killer? So idiotic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! :)  
> Stop making me simp for you guys please I'm trying to update in moderation so I don't burn you out on my writing.  
> I have eleven chapters already written or else the updates would be a week or two apart each.  
> The real reason I'm posting rn is to ask a question,, do you guys want all the chapters I have written already? LOL  
> If you do I will legit just post them all. I'll only need like two confirmations to actually post them because I am but a mere simp <3

**Detailed description of a zombie and vomit--**

George was horrified.

After his encounter with the skeleton he was dreading his trek into the rest of the pitch black stone tunnels that made up the cave. His torch lit the area around him but it didn't ease his fear of the foreboding corners he had to go around. He took slow steps that didn't mesh with the limited time he had to get ahead of the one chasing him. The pain of being hit by the skeleton's arrow and falling off of his tower of precariously placed cobblestone left him fearing crossing paths with anything else. He had internalized his fear completely and pushed forward but it still lingered deep inside of his mind, picking at his brain as he got closer to dark areas. 

He had become a jumpy mess, riddled with anxiety as he made his way through, collecting iron along the way. He would look behind his shoulder almost constantly and he had started listening closely for any sound out of the ordinary. It didn't help his fear when the darkness seemed to groan out his name in whispers of uncertainty. It warned him of it's claws which it didn't wish to possess. It warned of the looming monsters, damp stone he could slip on, depths unknown, and one more thing George couldn't put his finger on. It was the loudest uncertain wail the cave gave. One of impending claustrophobic challenge between him and something else. 

He could feel his hairs raise with his unabating stress, shivers crawling across his skin making him tremble to the point it was hard for him to maintain his rhythm when breaking iron. He had collected ten iron ore since his first six. He didn't know how much to get, all he knew was that he never wanted to enter another cave again. Maybe if he had someone there with him it wouldn't be so bad. He might've been reassured by their presence and soft words. That was only a hopeless wish. He was alone and he knew it. He needed to suck it up and find a way to live. 

His fingernails dug into the wood of his stone pickaxe, his frustration showing externally. He was mad at the continuous thoughts about loneliness that popped into his head. He didn't want to think about it but the first day had given him a stupid sense of a relationship of some kind. He hated his head for such stupid views on the situation. The first day had allowed him not to feel loneliness. He couldn't think of it when there was someone occupying his thoughts at all times. He decided then that he would not think about being alone anymore. Not once in this world would he think about how abandoned he felt. About who let him end up in this situation. 

_Grrrraah_

Grah? Did he think that in frustration? The sound was weird and it had echoed through his ears, thumping against the sides of his head. 

George almost jumped out of his skin as something made contact with his shoulders. It was a slightly rough physical contact, like someone pushing his shoulders down. George's mind flashed to the first day he was in this world, when the masked stranger grabbed his shoulders from behind. It was naturally rough as though the other hadn't had any contact other than roughness. George didn't doubt that with his job. But this! It felt like the same touch if not a little more lifeless. George's fear was still present but it lessened. If this was the masked stranger he had a chance to say something at least. The presence of a head beside his had him casting an expectant glance over his shoulder. He wasn't met with the void smiling mask. A horrid odor reached his nose. The smell of something dead, something that had been dead for a while. Something that was rotting. Someone that was rotting as they stood. George screamed concurrently with the low hungry grunt of the dead. He threw his arm back to push the rotting corpse away. He was desperate to shake it's grasp on his shoulders. 

George succeeded in getting the large, wound speckled hand off of his right shoulder. He didn't drop his torch as he narrowly dodged the yellow teeth that glared at him as the jaw of the dead opened towards his unmarked skin with a strong appetence. The look of the foul beast was beyond compare. The stringy hairs coated in grease, the grey color indicating the long begotten death, the multiple injuries that coated the body, the shredded clothes caked in dried blood. But none of these things were worse than the stomach that was torn open, pooling to the brim with the organs of the host. Intestines spilled from the gash as though it wouldn't kill the person that had the injury. The eyes gave yield to no life, the only indication that this was indeed a completely lifeless person. A dead man walking. The injuries didn't show the absence of life, rather they brought attention to the bodily concerns. The smell that exuded was another indication of the death that overtook the figure in front of his eyes. It alone was gut wrenching and brought bile to the edge of George's throat. 

Out of pure fear George threw his pickaxe down through the skull of the zombie, annunciating a deathly crack. Dark crimson spluttered from the large hole the pickaxe was now buried inside, painting splotches upon George's exposed arms. He had to keep himself from retching at the thought of gazing at what just happened along with the feeling of the blood clinging to his skin. He stumbled backwards from the scene, feeling lightheaded.

George dug through his bag with panic, eyes dashing between the slowly approaching, very much so still standing, dead person. A frenzy of emotions tore through his system. Disgust, terror, annoyance, anger, apprehension. He felt them all. His hands shook as he grabbed his sword in his left hand and pulled it from his bag, simultaneously throwing his torch haphazardly into its designated stack of four. He glared at the zombie ahead of him, pushing his fear to the back of his mind. He walked over to the groaning subject of interest with caution. He knew not to rush it or else he'd make mistakes and get himself bitten. He'd seen zombie movies and none of those bites were for the best. He surely wasn't letting himself get turned into one of these, rotting brainless until his misery was ended. He extended his sword and swung it into the side of the zombie, shredding halfway through it's torso. It was a wonder the bastard still stood after it staggered sideways from the hit. 

Another hit and the zombie was one leg down and had fallen to the floor. One more hit and it was most likely over for the corpse. 

George brought his sword down into the chest of the zombie, ending it's misery in a fizz of smoke. The clang of his pickaxe on the stone floor brought his eyes casting down onto it. He bent down and retrieved the now free tool. He returned his sword to it's spot and his pickaxe to his left hand. He grabbed a torch and basked in the illumination of the area around him. Taking a deep breath to recollect himself, he glanced into the darkness. He wasn't as scared of it. He knew two possible monsters that ran along the tunnels and he knew briefly what to do against them. He was still unaware of a lot but he knew he wasn't as terrified. The experience showed how he couldn't get trapped inside of his thoughts while holding on to the fear he had. He needed to choose one or the other. Or none. Fully focus on the task ahead of him with no emotions playing tricks on his mind. He thought a mask would be smiling at him and he would relish in the presence of another person. He was horribly wrong and he no longer cared to see the other. His stomach twisted and turned into knots just by the thought. He would be dead if it had been the masked man. Caught in his thoughts, more than likely a sword would have struck through him and the overwhelming pain would render him useless and a free kill. He wasn't friends with the only other person in the world. He needed to remember that. He didn't need to hope for a useless presence. 

George scoffed at himself and pulled ahead, eyes darting everywhere new that lightened as he approached. He went down multiple twists and turns, seeing only coal. His eyes couldn't catch sight of anything else besides the occasional notice of dirt poking from the walls. Stringy roots hung above his head and the occasional weed on the ground if dirt showed its face to him. He didn't have to go too far before his eye caught sight of some iron though. 

He got to work breaking the iron, giving his full attention to the rhythm and deteriorating of the ore in front of him. He needed to be faster if only by a little. He encouraged himself to be fast with it. His mind clouded with thoughts of breaking. Faster, if only a little faster.

Unavailable for any thoughts of caution after his mind boggling but educational experience with the zombie, he didn't notice anything except the ore. A flash of green showed in his peripheral vision but he didn't think much of it. Only until his eyes caught a constant flash of white and green light did he pay attention. Once this attention was given his ears were filled with a sharp hissing. He was gripped with a sudden panic that caught in his throat as one last flash ignited and his vision was occupied by nothing but white light. A boom sounded and dread became the only emotion in his mind. A rush of force threw his body backwards against the ore he had been so focused on breaking. Debris hit his face, making small cuts along his cheeks. A sharp corner dug into his back and the red-hot pain flaring from the explosion caught the rest of his body with a shock he hadn't prepared himself for. He still saw nothing but white and he could barely breathe.

He blindly reached into his satchel, running his hand along the top of each slot inside of the bag. Only when his hand ran along what seemed to be a piece of meat did he stop. He grabbed it and brought it to his mouth no matter the blindness that still occurred. He never realized that the only meat he had left was a singular piece of raw chicken. But what he also never realized until the meat met his taste buds was the rotten slab of flesh that had fallen from the zombie upon its death that he'd absentmindedly grabbed with his pickaxe. 

George took a bite of the meat with little hesitation, chewing twice before his taste buds screamed in terror. The meat was raw, rotten, and spoiled. It was hard to compare the meat to anything in his vocabulary. If he thought that the raw porkchop was horrid this was ten times more so. Agony was brought to his mouth, stomach, and throat as the taste settled and his eyes blurrily cleared of white. He didn't have a clue what he had put into his mouth and chewed into. It was overwhelmingly sour and made his mouth tingle and recoil in on itself. The chewiness that it provided made George's stomach twirl before the porkchop he had eaten after his fight with the skeleton forced its way out of his body, spewing onto the stone ground. The vomit made the ordeal worse, an even more putrid aftertaste taking place. His mouth was coated, every inch masked with a terrible taste. 

After he had finished throwing his insides up, he wiped the side of his mouth. He had emotionally shut down in a moment of disgust but also guilt. He was guilty now of accidental cannibalism. He had eaten the flesh of something that used to be human. It didn't matter that none of the substance had made its way down his throat and into his stomach, much less past the defensive barrier of bile overthrowing his throat's power to keep it down. He had chewed on the flesh of something that had to be human. The features were that of a human and he had let it sit in his mouth as he came to the realization of what he was doing. He couldn't have known, not even having the knowledge of the flesh being inside of his bag in the first place. He felt even more sick at the thought and another round of vomit felt as though it would make its way through his throat. It didn't and he had the suffering of feeling with no result. 

He felt a wave of nausea hit him, making him temporarily dizzy and unbalanced. He teetered stubbornly, not wanting to admit to the fact that he needed to take a seat and collect himself. He was still hurt and needed to get food to heal. He needed to cook the one thing he could and get finished with the cave while he had the health and hunger for it. He could do it all without taking a break. The break would only endanger him further with the crazy man who was bound to show up at any minute. George hadn't been in the cave for a long time but it felt like he'd been in the cave for hours. Time was crawling by in a frenzy of nerve-wracking events piling one after the other. He almost wanted to mine a hole in the wall and live in the walls, protected by layers all around and a narrow chance of being found. He would be a hell of a lot safer in that situation. 

But, George was nauseous and when that was mixed with the ache of his legs and splitting headache that was beginning to spread across his brain he was sent toppling over. As his shoulder struck the floor he wished he had listened to his body before. His head pounded and the world felt like it was spinning. He couldn't get up if he wanted to. 

He was hungry too, he needed to start cooking food. He was limited in his movement though, something that was obvious with the way his arms feebly fumbled with his bag. All he needed to do was sit up again and place the furnace down. That was all he needed to do before he could cook the last piece of food he owned and restore himself to his former glory. Who knew an explosion could be so detrimental to the human body?

After tremendous struggle George managed to prop himself up on his elbow and place his furnace down in front of him. He threw some coal into the opening and carefully placed the chicken in afterwards. He impatiently waited for the food to finish, anxious to get the pain he was feeling to go away. The smell wafting from the furnace made George's stomach emit a low growl of desperation. Something wasn't right about the way he felt. His stomach was plagued with a detrimental hunger unlike any he'd naturally experienced. He hadn't been this hungry before the smell of the baking chicken filled his nose. The scent was enrapturing as it forced itself onto him. His mouth watered and he almost took the chicken out of the furnace early enough to be considered sinful to whatever culture it concerned. 

George didn't know what to do with himself when his stomach started to painfully show it's ass. It felt as though it was caving in on itself, the pain almost too much. He got close to steamrolling the furnace just to get the chicken out of it without facing burns. He found it difficult to control himself and his new urge to devour everything in sight. His stomach agreed with this difficulty, making sure it was known with a groan.

After an exceedingly long time waiting for the chicken to cook, George took it out of the furnace. It was hot but it never burnt his fingers upon contact nor did it burn his tongue as he dug into the juicy meat with his pearly whites. His relief upon the taste flooded his mind and almost cancelled the taste with the irrepressible emotion overtaking his every thought. The relief was abolished by the unsettling cognizance that he hadn't eaten enough nor did he feel replenished. He would need to exit the cave to get more food. 

George's mind thronged with panic. He had to go out of the cave only to return later. His mind allotted many scenarios and what ifs for him to drown in. These uncertain outcomes brought even more consternation bubbling over George's head, close to reaching his nose where it could find itself trickling into his lungs as a ways of suffocating him. What if the masked man had caught up to him and knew exactly where he was? What if the masked stranger was waiting for the perfect moment to trap him with an army of monsters? What if he got out of the cave only to run into the other man who didn't have a clue where George had been beforehand? What if his lack of health was a gateway to the stranger slicing straight through him? This would surely have gotten him if not for the sounds emerging from the ever foreboding darkness all around him. No positives fell into his lungs, his mind focusing on any bad outcome possible. 

He was scared of what would come from the darkness if he waited any longer so he broke his furnace and started on his way out of the cave. His hunger was subdued for the time being but he could not rely on that for long. 

The heavy tapping of his footsteps on the stone ground echoed throughout the circumambient tunnels. He paid close attention to everything around him, knowing he wasn't healing. It made him fearful of how many more hits he could take before he fizzled out like the monsters and animals he had killed so far. A whiff of smoke that no one would think of ever again. George stopped in his tracks, spotting something ahead of him. The smell of the dead wafted through the air. This was where he killed the zombie. Up ahead of him was what looked to be a piece of iron ore placed in the middle of his path. That definitely hadn't been there before. A crafting table sat carelessly to the side, hugging the wall to rid itself of the loneliness of having been discarded by the one who made it. 

George's hand shot into his bag at the sight, his sword being pulled from it subconsciously. He stalked over to the ore, torch in hand to shine its light and ridding the space of shadows. A piece of paper poked out from on top of the ore, the corner of the paper being held down by a piece of rotten flesh. The paper looked freshly made, white and pristine compared to the surrounding damp stone walls. Scrawled upon the paper were ink black letters, constructed with obvious haste. Some random dots of ink were spotted across the paper in random places, the evident first one being smudged in an attempt to erase it's existence from the paper. George's curiosity peaked. He had been given a note back?

George sat his torch down on the edge of the iron ore to keep the light he required to read the letter. His hands softly took the note into them, holding it gently as if he were cradling a baby. He absentmindedly nibbled on the back of his lip as he started to read the handwritten distress of letters.

_**Hi** _

_****_

_**I had a good morning because of your note, thank you George :)** _

_****_

_****_

_****_

_**I see you used my signature smiley, were you thinking about me that much? If it makes you feel any better I keep seeing your stupid clout goggles when I see anything white. Did you not know you had them on your head? I left them on the crafting table, you should be able to see it from here. Sorry about the rotten flesh, it was from when you killed that zombie. You handled yourself well but why'd you look over your shoulder like that? Thing could've sunk it's teeth into your face.**  
**Think of me however you want but remember to value your life more than that thought. I could kill you when you least expect it. I'm probably around, very close right as you read this. The morning greeting was sweet, although you didn't mean to let me see you before you left. Thank you for comforting me. You're a nice person.  
You really should be scared of me though. I also wouldn't stick my nose in anything about me if I were you. I'm not worth that. You don't have to worry about comforting me, focus on getting out. Only one of us ends up stuck here or dead. Let it be me.   
**These notes are nice. I feel relieved after writing something, even though the sound of the creeper that just hurt you pisses me off. I want to keep exchanging notes but it could be hard with the current relationship. I'm sorry you're stuck in this situation.****_ ****

********

_****_

********

_****_ ****

********

_****_

********

**_\- Dream_ **

********

_****_

********

A scribble was located at the name written at the bottom. It was a blob that was smiling like his mask. Dream. That was ironic considering that Dream was quite literally his worst _nightmare_ in this world. The thought made him snicker to himself and the man watching from the elevated entrance to a cave just right of George. What kind of a name was Dream for a killer? So idiotic.

********

_****_

********

The note was nice though. Dream had revealed feelings that George hadn't known were present within the man. George had made him smile with his note. A smile took over his lips. Thinking about it, Dream was thoughtful for a so called mindless murderer. He constantly told George to look after himself even though Dream was the one George had to look out for. He complimented George's kindness and made it known that he wanted George to beat him in this game of cat and mouse. He told George to stop thinking of him and comforting him so that George himself could win. He wanted to continue leaving notes for each other to find. He apologized for George being stuck in the situation knowing full well he couldn't do anything about it. Dream was stuck in the same position as George. He didn't want to hurt George but he knew he had to or else something would happen to him. 

********

_****_

********

George was awestruck at the normalcy Dream possessed. He wasn't the same kind of person George had thought he was. He never wanted to hug someone more than in that moment. He wasn't quite sure why the need to share comforting physical contact with the other was dominating his mind in the way it was. 

********

_****_

********

But the other said he was probably watching. He was writing the note when the creeper exploded George. He was pissed at something else hurting George. He was awfully protective. 

********

_****_

********

George kicked himself into gear, picking his torch up and working hard to quickly break the one iron ore Dream had so graciously left behind for him. He picked it up and returned the pickaxe to it's slot within his bag, replacing it with his sword. He left the rotten flesh on the ground, too repulsed to touch it. He went over to the crafting table and spotted his clout goggles looking back with a shining relief reflecting off of the black glass. He grabbed them and tucked one of the arms into the neckline of his shirt to leave them hanging. 

********

_****_

********

He turned from the crafting table only to have his heart drop to his toes. The male's eyes met with a pair of void black holes and the messily etched smile that only belonged to one other. The dirty blond hair that flowed back from the male's face as he jumped from the ledge of a connecting tunnel, the hood of his cloak staying securely over his head. He had come like a silent assassin in the night, no sound to represent his presence. George should have known what was happening but in this moment he needed to show his worth. He blocked the attack of the other man's stone sword with his own, the impact of the two swords clashing pushing him back into the crafting table. It met his bottom, poking uncomfortably hard into him. He now needed to find a way to get away from the man. He was still low on health, he couldn't afford to be hit. 

********

_****_

********

"Nice seeing you again Georgie, like the note?" Dream's cheerful voice was accompanied by a cheery smile. George bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling back. The wideness of the other's smile as well as the tone of his voice made it hard. His words didn't help either, especially the nickname. He sounded so happy to see George and talk to him. His mood was contagious. George wasn't as scared.

********

_****_

********

"You wish," George stated through gritted teeth, struggling against the man's strength. He tried to inconspicuously eye their surroundings, trying to formulate a plan for escaping the goliath. 

********

_****_

********

"So mean," a teasing pout caught Dream's lips at George's reply. He was overpowering George and he knew it. He appeared to be unphased by the fact that George had blocked his attack. 

********

_****_

********

"Not as mean as you, watching me get attacked by a zombie," George shook his head, glimpsing the side area near them on the turn of his head he was provided by the shake. He saw something glowing. Many something's glowing. He couldn't tell what color the glow was but it was ominous beyond belief. He didn't show his emotions as his head returned to its normal position. Whatever he had seen could be used to his advantage. It could attack Dream from behind and allow George the opportunity to sprint away and collect food. 

********

_****_

********

"I knew you could kill it," Dream's smile faltered and George could feel the way his gaze penetrated his face. He was unsure of what it meant but George sent a surge of force into his sword with a harsh shove. Dream stumbled backwards and George took that moment to slip from the crafting table, towards the tunnels that lead to the exit of the cave. He didn't sprint yet, wanting to make sure that Dream would be stopped by something. And that he was. A large black fuzzy monster pounced from the dark abyss, a loud hiss coming from it as it did. Dream's mouth fell into a panicked expression for a split second. The beast that had pounced connected with Dream, wrapping its limbs around his arm and sinking its fangs through Dream's cloaked shoulder. George then realized what this monster was. It was a gigantic spider that had the capability of capturing a human and devouring them. The beady eyes were glowing maliciously as it tore into Dream's arm. Dream merely grunted and threw the spider down to the ground with his sword. He was unperturbed in his killing of the creature. Cool, calm, and collected despite his arm's new bloody injury. 

********

_****_

********

Whilst Dream was fighting the spider George could see the other mobs creeping slowly his way. He could see two zombies getting ready to throw themselves into the fight from the area Dream had emerged to surprise attack George. Another green freak, other than Dream of course, was making its way to the area as well. It's body proportions were disturbing to say the least. It had a big head with two hollow eyes and a hollow, jagged mouth. This met a long body that had no arms connecting to it, only straight down to the four legs and feet that moved in the utmost unnatural way possible. George didn't know what it was but the only other creature he knew of was what Dream called a creeper. Those explode but he hadn't seen the one that inflicted damage upon him so he had no knowledge of whether this was a creeper or another monster he had yet to encounter. George didn't need a signal to start running in the opposite direction. He had gauged the skill level of Dream and that amount of mobs were nothing to him. If Dream had regularly killed people that were competent and knew what they were doing he was bound to have no troubles with the surrounding monsters. 

********

_****_

********

George ran down the multiple twisting tunnels he had committed to memory. He may have been a nervous wreck when he was carefully turning down the paths but he was memorizing the way to the exit all the same. He did so in case of emergency. If he needed to run like he was doing at the current second he wanted to be prepared to get out as soon as he could. His shoes made taps against the stone as it had done before but these were urgent and such urgency was conspicuous in the echoes that followed as well. His clout goggles bounced against his chest, seemingly synchronizing with the loud beating of his heart. He almost tripped over his feet but caught himself before the action could be pursued. 

********

_****_

********

The soft glow of the sunlight peeking through the large hole that was the exit held the same heavenly glow one would expect to see when walking towards the gates of heaven. George embraced that glow, feeling as though he had entered the gates of heaven as soon as he stepped out of the cave into the warmth of the sun shining down on him. He was blinded by the bright light that deeply contrasted the darkness of the cave he had been in only a few seconds ago. He couldn't be happier though, feeling great to escape the hold of fear the cave had him in. 

********

_****_

********

He continued running though, determined to get away from Dream's location and to start getting food. He had gotten to a clearing when he looked over his shoulder at the cave, spotting Dream looking around anxiously from his spot in the middle of the entrance. His back looked to be engulfed by the shadow of the cave behind him. His face suddenly tore from the outside scene back to the cave behind him and George caught a glimpse of zombies raring to get a hit on the untouchable man who had rushed back into the cave, most likely to deal with the pests trying to get a bite of him. 

********

_****_

********

George was safe for now. Dream hadn't seen him. He let out a relieved sigh at the thought, slowing down to focus. It was animal slaughtering time for him. He would feel bad about it if he allowed himself time to think before killing the creatures. That's why he wouldn't think as he did such a deed.

********

_****_

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3 <3


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh George," Dream softly called after the boy, a tone that made his head swirl in confusion. George tore forward from the other's hold on his brain, feet doing the same to get away from his baleful foe. 
> 
> "Go away Nightmare," George called the name in a sarcastic, teasing tone of voice. A grunt of annoyance sounded from behind him, almost prompting him to look back to see the expression covering his mouth.

The sun embarked on a journey through a bright blue sky, moving ever so slightly as George did the same. He moved along the sides of bodies of water that stretched far under the trees, killing animals as he went. The middle of the bodies of water, as would be expected, had no light blocked from the overhead leaves of the trees that could not grow in water. They were open and clear, letting the sun shine through and give the water a reflective glare. The surface in the middle of the water was made slightly warmer in temperature than the rest of the depths for the reason of the sunlight dominating the area. George would catch himself glancing at the middle of the shining waters filled with a certain desire. He had been running for so long the past two days. It would be so refreshing to jump in and and dive through the seagrass and salmon. He could kill a squid for ink and some fish for food. But did he want to risk Dream stumbling along and seeing him? The other male surely wouldn't jump in with him and playfully splash around. It was horribly risky if Dream somehow got a track of where George is. 

But he needed the ink for another note to Dream and the food that could possibly be obtained from the pond would add nicely to his inventory. The more food he got now the less he would have to get later. The last time he'd gone in water was almost as if he was on autopilot. He didn't get to enjoy the water that licked at his skin over the tunnel vision that occurred with the overpowering gaze nature had upon him. He was higher on the food chain as a human and nature acknowledged that. He wanted to be able to enjoy the water washing away all blood and sweat from his body. The cave he had exited had given him a lingering smell that he no longer wanted to retain. It was a mixture between the zombie's rotten flesh, his sweat from continuous running and fighting, and the blood he had been splattered with when killing the zombie. It made for a terrible smell that George just wanted _gone_. 

With these points figured out in his head George decided he would take a rest and dip himself into the water. He trailed to the edge of the water and slipped out of his shoes. He placed his crafting table at his side, placing five pieces of wood in the specific pattern of two down each side with one connecting the bottom middle slot to the side pieces. A boat emerged from the top of the crafting table and George grabbed it. He pushed it into the water from the bank of sand he was standing on before placing his shoes, socks, and bag inside of it. He decided that he didn't want to be plagued with the need to pull his jeans over his legs if he had to make a run for it. Having to pull his shoes back on would be enough of a hassle. Maybe if one day he knew he was safe for an extended period of time he would take time to actually clean himself. 

The sand trickled over his feet as he moved, grains rolling over them with an inviting tenderness. That tenderness would turn to a sticky betrayal if he would exit onto the same gentle sand with water plastered to him. The sand would grab ahold of the drops of water and stay steadfast to his feet with little hope of getting every piece off. He enjoyed the way it caressed his feet in that moment though, relaxed by the feeling. The view around him was truly a sight to behold, a gorgeous surrounding with no manmade atrocities getting in the way of such naturally achieved beauty. He wished his world looked so pretty and peaceful. The mood of the clearing was delightful, the sun bathing everything in a warm, healthy glow. Everything was living symbiotically in the environment, the fish not daring to gulp each other down and instead opting for a unanimous peace. Even the squids agreed upon the peaceful vibe, refraining from eating any fish. They fed off of the plants bestowed upon them by the sun above. The pure amount of them was overwhelming to gaze upon. It was an overpopulation that George was sure to fix. Eventually they would run out of kindness for each other due to the lack of plants to keep up with their breeding. They would turn on each other with the hunger they felt. George was doing them a favor by wrecking their peace for just that moment. They would soon return to the way they were before as soon as he left. 

George took his first step into the water, disliking the way his jeans instantly clung to his skin as they soaked all of the water they could into them. He wished he could take his jeans off and enjoy himself more but he knew it was wishful thinking. He needed to be smarter about his decisions and discomfort was something he would take over death any day. He continued his way into the water, choosing to focus on the way the water felt on his skin instead of the wetness that was sure to stay nestled in his jeans long after he leaves the water behind him. 

The water slid against his skin as he submerged himself up to his waist where his shirt caught air and puffed out, allowing his skin the chance to be embraced by the relieving clear liquid. He kept his boat by his side, waiting to push it away for when he was on the last depth his height granted him the ability to touch the wet sand of the bottom with. His feet were swept by the seagrass that grew from the lake bed, fish looking on with curiosity. They would approach his foot and dart away with fear at the slightest indication of movement. He was disrupting their ecosystem with his very presence but he couldn't deny the disruption was for good reason. The reason was simply that they should feel disrupted. His life was disrupted so suddenly, why shouldn't they have the same experience? It was a malicious thought that he didn't cogitate over. It seems he would let the internal dread of what had happened eat him alive until it escaped in a rush of emotion or menacing release. 

He dipped his body lower into the water, his shirt further flowing out around him. The cool water tracing the outlines of his torso had him shivering at such a sensation. He pushed his shirt flush against his body, uncomfortable with the way it was floating under his arms. He took the way his right foot was slipping slightly as an attestation that he needed to push off of the ground beneath his feet and send the boat sailing towards the middle of the pond. He did just that, flattening his palm against the side of the boat and pushing off of the ground, propelling it forward. He followed soon after, diving beneath the surface of the water, affording the water a chance to envelope him. His hair became wispy strands that floated around him with no set course and unpredictable movement. His eyes were shut but he opened them even when he knew a blur would overtake his vision. That it did, blobs of green (or in his case yellow) and other random shades of his limited color variation being all he could see. The dark shade of a squid entered his vision and he reached for his bag so he could get his sword, only to remember his lack of the satchel at his side. He swam back to the surface, breathing a content sigh of relief as air flooded back into his lungs. 

He pushed his hair back with one hand and wiped his eyes with that same hand. He then swam over to his boat and grabbed his sword from his bag. He didn't head straight back into the water however, settling instead for the relaxing option of leaning against the side of his boat, legs gliding through the water absently. He was happy to close his eyes and feel the soft warm breeze brush against his wet cheeks. He felt so comfortable basking in the warm rays the sun rained down on his back as he kicked his legs in a way that would only worry the smallest of bugs hovering along the water's surface. He felt free from harm as he floated in the middle of the pond. He wanted to enjoy the moment just a little longer. He was desperate to relish in his comfy mood as he knew the worst hadn't hit him. No where near to the worst of what he would be hit with had hit him. He also felt so light, lifted by the water and free of any heavy armor that had the potential to weigh him down. He was in the little leagues and would soon have to promote himself to the big leagues.

Dream could be getting armor or he could be on the lookout for George. The soil that George had walked through had been imprinted by his feet, the soil retaining it's traces of such imprints. Dream could easily find those imprints with his keen eyes that had grown accustomed to searching for the littlest clues as to where someone had gone. George placed his free right hand to his forehead, groaning at the intrusive thoughts. But they were right and George listened to them, getting out of his relaxing position and grabbing his bag from the boat. He threw it over his shoulder, checking every zipper to make sure nothing could enter his bag and ruin the items inside. It wasn't a sure thing but the satchel was magic, surely it could protect everything inside of it. If it could he would bring the bag with him where ever he went. 

He slid himself down the side of the boat, dunking himself far down into the water. His sword felt lighter in the water and his bag sprawled behind him, flittering about in the clear bubbles. He opened his eyes to be met with the same blobs of color as before, the bag meandering beside him being an extra addition in color. He casually swam over to the opposite shore of the one that he entered, sword deranging the way he swam. He kept his left arm dormant, swimming only with his legs and right arm. He didn't want to accidentally slash himself while swimming. 

He reached the shore slower than expected but it didn't stop him from exiting the water and opening his bag to see if any turmoil had come to his unsuspecting items. Nothing had been touched, no water entering the bag whatsoever. George was relieved to track his eyes over the untouched valuables he possessed. He grabbed his furnace from his bag and placed it down on the sandy shore. He placed some coal into it and deposited his iron into the furnace. This would allow him to make armor once he exited the pond. He went back to his water exploration afterwards. 

He had done right by entering the pond and getting both ink and fish. He conjectured that he had given himself a good amount of time to gather what he needed and would be able to leave before Dream was able to make an appearance.

George coasted through the clear liquid that environed him, looking out for dark blobs that obscurely resembled a squid. Every shape that looked like one was a shape that he sliced through and found delight in doing so. He felt so high-octane, dominating the ecosystem as long as he was the only person inside of it. He was the apex predator that could end the lives of anything he wanted to. He wanted to get as many ink sacks as he could, prompting him to paint the water of the pond crimson with how many he slashed through. He would grab the ink and push himself off the bottom of the pond floor, opening his bag and adding to his stack of ink sacks once he broke through the surface. 

Once he got around ten sacks of ink he went on to the fish, breaking through their schools with his inexorable stone blade. He collected the raw bodies of the poor victims, twenty in total. He swam to the top and took a deep breath, the sickening smell of iron making contact with his nose. He shut his eyes, taken aback by the strong smell that surrounded him. He dove beneath the surface after returning his sword to it's proper section, swimming to where his boat was floating. He clambered into the boat, trying to avoid dripping red dyed water onto his shoes. He was successful, avoiding the shoes as he sat down and rowed himself to his shore. Before he exited the boat he dried his feet the best he could from inside of the boat, rubbing them against the sides of the wood until they were only damp. He slipped his socks and shoes on before hopping out of the boat, shivering at the breeze hitting his skin. He didn't know quite what to do with his boat now. Would he get the boat again if he broke it? Most items worked that way in this world so he assumed the same for the boat. His assumption turned to be correct and he was able to grab the boat and shove it into his bag. 

George was now ready to tie himself down to the weight of the iron armor he could make. He ended up with twenty iron ingots, only having broken three pieces when his brain had been focused only on breaking iron and lead him to getting caught in an explosion. He picked his iron ingots up and replaced them with the new fish he had ended up with. He placed his crafting table down into the sand and started thinking over what he could and should make with the limited iron he had. 

He could make three pieces of armor in total without balancing defense with offense. He would end up with no iron left and no helmet. 

He could make an iron sword, a shield, and two pieces of armor and be left with one ingot. An alternate for the two pieces of armor would leave him with four extra. He chose to even himself out and this plan seemed to be the best.

He crafted more sticks and used those to make a sword and pickaxe. He tested how the sword felt, swinging it back and forth with his left hand. It was hefty, but easy to swing. Holding it normally for an extended period of time would be difficult for him. When he went to put it back into his bag he found his hip becoming slightly heavier. He looked down to realize that the iron sword had come with it's own sheath. That would make access a lot easier. He made a shield with the wood he had in his inventory and slipped that into his right hand, testing how it felt in his hand. It was heavy too but slightly less so, being thin enough to take weight off of it. He could hold it for a longer time than the sword. It helped that the shield strapped around his arm, the weight distributed between his arm and hand the same instead of all the weight having to be primarily dealt with by just his hand and wrist. He made his two armor pieces last, leaving one ingot in the end. He had made a chestplate and boots. He slipped the boots on over his shoes first, easily slipping them on and moving around. They were easy to lift but not very breathable. He would definitely sweat a lot with them hugging his feet. He put the chestplate on next, the weight pushing him down instantly. He internally groaned at how annoying the chestplate would be until he could get used to it. 

He struggled with the uncomfortable chestplate, tightening the straps so that it fit him snug and wouldn't annoyingly clink against his torso while he moved. He gave himself just enough room to breathe, figuring it would make it easier to run if the armor was clinging to his body. 

He gave his furnace a glance, noticing the way it glowed with a bright, redoubtable fire. He grabbed the fish that had finished cooking from the heat, chomping away at one of them. He had forgotten his predicament of low health even though he had been working away at animals since he had left the cave and Dream behind. He decided he was fine with finding a new cave, not wanting to wager running into Dream again. The fish snuffed his hunger out, leading to his skin clearing of any lacerations. He felt rejuvenated as all his woes disappeared and he was met with another lighthearted touch from the passing breeze. The leaves rustled with approval, viewing him with a newfound respect upon the armor glittering up at them. He felt stronger than he had ever felt. 

He needed to find a large amount of sugarcane. He could keep grabbing whatever sugarcane was available as he walked past new areas but he wanted to get enough to keep comfortably making new paper every time he desired to write a new note to give Dream. He had the note Dream gave him in his bag and he would keep piling them in the front pocket until he would have to find another pocket to store them in. This is drawing the inference that George wouldn't die anytime soon and they would continue on like they had been so far. George started his search for sugarcane with the somber thought of dying grinding his brain. 

No sugarcane was around the pond he had been destroying with his bloodthirsty blade. He had to leave his furnace behind for a few minutes but he would return with a hardy amount of sugarcane and happiness. He just had to be quick on his feet, quick enough to find a sufficient amount of sugarcane and return unharmed to the temporary base of a singular furnace. He felt the need to find enough wool for a bed as well but he could do that after moving far away from where Dream could easily find him. If he took an unhealthy amount of twists and turns through the soil he should be able to confuse Dream's mind when he would look for him. 

George took a few disorienting paths as he went to search for sugarcane in case Dream ended up following this track that would lead him no where. He wanted it to seem as though he had left in this direction for good. He had left fish cooking so Dream would be able to gauge the temperature they were at and determine how close George was using that information. He had a feeling Dream would be that thorough in his investigations to find him. 

George eventually found his way to another body of water that had sugarcane growing on it's bank. It had some on the side he approached and more on the side opposite him. He giddily collected it, ready to commit to writing something to Dream. The notes and the reaction letters he got back were the best parts of his days. He couldn't be mad that Dream jumped him after he had read the note he got as a response. Dream had waited long enough for George to collect the materials that were sitting around the room. He also had the happiness and excitement of a dog greeting their owner after they were gone all day when he had talked to George. The emotions were in both his voice and his smile. It was endearing that someone who was meant for killing him would act so desirous towards him despite the circumstances. 

After grabbing the sugarcane from his side of the lake he planted his boat down in the water. He climbed into the boat and rowed himself to the other side, finding that it was quicker to travel by boat than by his own two feet. He gathered the rest of the sugarcane from that side and decided that since he had enough for eight pieces of paper he would leave it at that. He used his boat to get back across the lake and started on his way after picking his boat back up. 

George got back to his furnace in no time, making more turns as he stepped through the trees and mushrooms hanging above. The sound of iron rubbing and making a subtle clink as he walked filled the space behind his ears. He wondered briefly if Dream was close enough to hear the noise. He arrived at his furnace and crouched beside it, pulling the cooked salmon from the stone cooker. He broke the furnace afterwards and placed his crafting table in it's place. He leaned against the crafting table, placing all of his sugarcane in a parallel line of three, making eight pieces of paper with the twenty-four sugarcane he possessed. He pulled the stack of paper from the resulting spot, pushing seven of the pages into their very own spot within his bag. He pushed the one he had kept out flat against the wooden crafting bench, taking a deep breath in preparation. He brought on of the ink sacks he collected out of his satchel and placed it in the corner where his left hand could easily reach it. He unsheathed the ink black stained feather he used for writing the previous letter that graced Dream's eyes and supposedly made his morning a good one. He dipped the feather into the deep black void of ink, watching it drip off as he pulled the feather back up so he could begin writing. He let his thoughts guide him, easily finding the words he knew would be ample for the other. Having a friendship limited to paper, what a sad thing. 

_**Hey** _

_**I'm glad I could make your morning a good one :)** _

_**If you feel that good about the smiley I'll use it until you're sick of it :) :) :)** _

_**Thank you for returning my clout goggles. They aren't stupid, you are :) But, for your information, I did have no idea that they were even there in the first place. I never felt them and they didn't fall or anything before you pat my hair. Speaking of which, why were you so damn bipolar? Nice one minute and then a dick the next. Also, the rotten flesh thing. Funny story, I might've accidentally eaten some after the creeper blew me up. I thought it was a different piece of meat. I feel horrible about it. Should I? I feel like a cannibal. I looked over my shoulder at the zombie because I truthfully expected it to be you. I know, I know. Stupid of me.** _

_**I'll try to value my life more but how can I do that when you act like a excited puppy when you talk to me? Unfair Nightmare. I'm glad I could comfort you. Were you perhaps having a nightmare? Or was it me touching the mask? Are you nervous about anyone seeing your face? You make me too curious. You're interesting.** _

_**I appreciate you looking out for me and I am scared of you but that won't stop me from trying to find out more about you. Sorry but I think it's worth it. Getting to know you, I mean. About what you said about only one of us making it out. Why can't we both get out? You shouldn't have to be stuck in a never-ending cycle of killing and chasing. You can come out through the end portal with me. Think about it please. I don't want to leave you here to repeat that cycle. I'll fight with you on it, whether that's through these notes or actual hand-to-hand combat. You'll most likely win the later though so I might stick to words if you don't mind :)** _

_**I agree that the letters are nice. They really are the only relieving and happy moments of my days here. Way to be possessive about the creeper Dreamie ;) you'll make me blush if you aren't careful. But seriously, don't apologize for me being in this situation. I must've done something to put myself in the situation. It's not your fault.** _

_**-Georgie :)** _

George's handwriting was a beautiful contrast to the kindergarten handwriting of Dream. This was purely due to George taking his time on not blotting the paper. Dream was being sneaky and trying to finish his writing fast so he could hide in the upper caves, this prominently showing in his messy handwriting. The only thing he seemed to spend any time on was the blob Dream he signed his name with. It was a pristine outlined shape, something he had confidence in creating. George figured that Dream had drawn the figure in his spare time. 

George's eyes trailed over the letter Dream gave him. The random splotches of darkness called out to him in an attempt to tell the story behind the author. They wanted to speak the forbidden words that Dream dared not let them utter. The words that kept his secrets locked away in the ruffled vane and pointed calamus of the feather he dragged over the paper. They itched to unleash everything upon George's mind, to tell of everything Dream had been handling and everything he wanted to know about the other. He brushed a finger gently over the ink splotches, the warped paper nuzzling his fingertip to calm his racing thoughts about the one who had brought the paper to feel such a way with the ink besetting it's flesh. He let his normal thoughts and focus return to him, flushing any thoughts of Dream out of his mind. He tested the ink with his finger to see if it was dry, smiling when it in fact was. He broke the crafting table and placed his boat down in the sand. 

The boat carried an air of confidence in it's full power, knowing it wouldn't fail to serve as a good vehicle. It had served George well for the short time he had it. Now he was to abandon it on a sandy shore and bloody waters. He dipped his hand into the divots of the dark oak wood, giving a farewell to his trusty steed. The boat no longer looked to him as though it had confidence, instead looking like a sad child that was being left for dead in the streets. Dream would pick the boat up though, George was sure of it. The melancholy air that emitted from the boat as it awaited the inevitable was suffocating. George felt as though he was making it up but everything in the world seemed to easily personify in the magical air. Everything seemed to do things that only a human or animal could do. 

George laid down the paper he had littered with his hopeful words and many smiley faces. He huffed an amused breath at the clout goggled blob as the paper left his fingers to their lonesome. He laid one of the oars atop the paper, hoping to prevent it from succumbing to the grasp of the passing winds. He was now free to walk away from the peaceful spot he'd held close to his heart for this short moment. He closed his eyes to allow the breeze to slip through his eyelashes for their last time. He pouted at the thought of having to leave the area. 

His lolling was cut short by the crunch of leaves that had been picked up by the wind and thundered into his ears. His head snapped in the direction the gust came from, eyes locking on a green cloaked form. A green cloaked form that happened to be covered head to toe in iron armor. He carefully examined the other's body language, noticing as soon as Dream's body scrunched in the slightest, right knee bending to start his run. George needed no other fear stricken whisper yells from the wind, he was already sprinting into the underbrush. The clang of his iron boots triturating the leaves that were so unlucky to meet such a fate agitated his ears. The pounding of his heart, the rush of the wind stinging against his cheeks, the crash of iron behind his back, the harmonious yet psychotic giggles that floated from Dream. All of it worked together to create a clashing of sounds that all worked against his ears.

He watched the oversized mushrooms fly by and made the split-second decision that he would grab one of the wilting fire red caps of one. He never calculated the many ways that it could turn on him, the many ways his idea could deceive him. He reached out and dug his nails into the fleshy grits that lined the inside of the cap, jumping up in a trial run to weigh it down and cause Dream to run into it. Lamentably, George found himself to weigh less than needed and he stayed suspended for a moment before the shocking pain that sprouted from his hip caused him to lose sight of what he was trying to do. George hissed out in pain, the reality of the situation bringing his mind to concentrate. Dream had allowed his blade to slash George's hip, a lesion that called for assistance. George stumbled onto his feet from the mushroom, hand shooting to his injury. Dream was too close for his comfort and he needed to get away. 

"Oh George," Dream softly called after the boy, a tone that made his head swirl in confusion. George tore forward from the other's hold on his brain, feet doing the same to get away from his baleful foe. 

"Go away Nightmare," George called the name in a sarcastic, teasing tone of voice. A grunt of annoyance sounded from behind him, almost prompting him to look back to see the expression covering his mouth. 

"Don't call me that," Dream expressed his disapproval, his voice strained to get his point across. 

"Mmm, don't like it?" George made a mental note that he should probably stop calling Dream by the nickname unless he wanted to get punted and stabbed to death out of annoyance. While making this mental note he didn't notice the hole of impending doom that grew ever closer. A rift that separated two parts of earth, opening to reveal streams of water and lava along with exposing ores for anyone to gaze upon and get the idea of swooping into their arms for their own greedy purposes. George was unlucky in his timing for contemplating the death he could get from annoying Dream, forgetting to watch out for the death that could come from his surroundings. 

George focused back on the present too late, his foot already having been caught on a small root that overlooked the gaping divide of the ravine. He watched helplessly as his body was flung out over the hole, panic settling in his bones. As he shrieked he barely caught the way Dream's hands reached out for him desperately, an anguished "George!" having been shouted when his fingertips barely grazed the smaller boy's chestplate strap. The thought of death chilled his mind as he watched the ground grow dangerously close. This was it. This was the end of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that there aren't many moments that George and Dream are together. They have a complicated relationship at the moment. We'll eventually get there lol


	5. f ive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain was the only thing he felt. He was dying. it felt like he was being torn apart inside and out. Why did it feel like that? He'd fallen, that's all he'd done. He'd fallen by his stupid mistake of getting stuck in his head. He wasn't dead but his pain was so overwhelming he felt as though death was gripping his whole body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!  
> I love and appreciate you all <3   
> Take this update as a gift, a token of my love, a show of my simp ass. Any of those are acceptable :)  
> I hope you all have wonderful days to follow before my next update.

Pain was the only thing he felt. He was dying. it felt like he was being torn apart inside and out. Why did it feel like that? He'd fallen, that's all he'd done. He'd fallen by his stupid mistake of getting stuck in his head. He wasn't dead but his pain was so overwhelming he felt as though death was gripping his whole body. His throat ached with the pained scream he couldn't choke up, his legs seethed under the pressure of falling, his head pounded with a splitting pain from bashing against the stone, his torso was bloodied and bruised. He could only whimper in pain as he struggled against the weight of death holding him down. He couldn't move to reach for his bag, even with it being as close as it was. He just needed to eat something. That was all he needed to do. He wasn't actually dying, this was all just a brief overtaking of his senses. He'd be fine in the end.

His breath was stuck in his throat, hardly able to get down to his lungs. His ears were difficult to gain control of, his mind seeming to blank in his efforts to pick up sound again. A muffled sound did reach him but he couldn't get the haze on his mind to lift its curse of blurry vision so he could see whatever made the sound. A few feet away from him was a _dreamy_ sight.

Dream had panicked when he gazed over the side of the ravine only to see his poor bunny injured and bleeding on the ledge of one of the protruding stone shelves. He watched with nerves on high alert as he saw skeleton a few feet away that hadn't seemed to notice George's presence. He was high-strung and livid, ready to start his journey on a warpath. He could only think about how George was most definitely almost dead and he could barely even blame it on himself. Sure he had been chasing him but that was for good reason, George was the idiot who wasn't paying attention to where he was going. So Dream took it upon himself to wield his water bucket and take a leap of faith to the exact ledge that George was on, pouring a wave of reassuring water at his feet that caught him with open arms. He hadn't touched the boy for fear of hurting him and accidentally killing him, all he had done was gaze with a certain sadness encapsulating his heart. He just wanted the other to be okay. Presently, Dream was on the other side of the ravine fighting a skeleton. It was an easy battle, Dream's graceful recklessness taking full effect. His axe was dug into the skeleton's bones until he could no longer carve warnings into the fizzling smoke that was left behind. All this for George and he couldn't even see such a sight.

George was still full of pain as he tried making out the sounds presenting themselves to his ears. He was analyzing them, trying his best to link sounds he knew to the muffled, sad excuses for the sounds his ears made out. A bone clink? The sound of footsteps? The groans of the heavy walls surrounding him that might fall at any given second? He couldn't make out what was happening.

The tapping of his bag against his hip was what brought him out of focusing on the sound to focusing on a much larger problem. Something was rummaging around in his bag as he laid half dead on the stone ground. He flinched away from whatever it was, panicking at the contact. The something didn't move away from him nor did it stop scrounging around in his bag. He wished it'd kill him already so he didn't have to sit there writhing in pain while waiting for valuables to be ripped from him in his disabled state. But whatever it was had stabilized his hip with one hand while they frantically continued their business with his bag one-handed. His hip throbbed under the pressure of the hand, warmth and pain spreading to fill the void numbness he was previously experiencing. It made him want to vomit the nothingness his stomach contained. 

The rummaging ceased, the hand on his hip maintaining its position when the bag had gone limp. A sound, something his ears seemed to magically hear better than anything else. A voice. It was talking to him. _Dream_ was talking to him. His eyes desperately searched the muddled blob of dulled colors that were nearly indistinguishable as a human with the signature smiley mask. He couldn't tell Dream's mouth expression that looked to melt together with his other facial features. George felt like he was on drugs when looking around in the state he was in now. He didn't understand how a fall could do this to him. Was it his health reaching a certain point? George had related his state of wellness to something of a health scale. There seemed to be certain things that happened when he reached the different stages of the scale and now he knew just how bad being low on the scale was. Maybe it wasn't always like this. George didn't think that at the end of a sword fight his vision would blur and he would no longer be able to move an inch. He figured it would be more realistic to the circumstance such as blood pooling from his mouth and gashes before he fizzled away into nothing more than white smoke and drift away in the whispers of the wind as if he had never been there in the first place. 

"...ot, how could you be so reckless... your head... just eat," George could only make out certain words and he was confused by most of them. All he knew was that Dream thought he had been reckless and that he was about to get something shoved into his mouth. He braced for impact because he knew that Dream sounded unreasonably angry for a man that was supposed to murder him. He was almost dead, this was Dream's chance. Dream wouldn't even need a sword. All he needed to do was give George a love tap of concern and George would flitter away with the breeze. This reason stuck true to his confusion when a piece of fish was torn from the bone and inspected before being gently pushed to George's lips. He was not forced through Dream's frustration, it was quite the opposite. It seemed that Dream was trying his hardest to be soft and not rush George into eating. To be fair, if he did George could choke but some unknown feeling made George believe that Dream hadn't been thinking about that when choosing to use great care. 

George didn't feel as though he could move from the situation. He certainly couldn't physically leave the situation but he also didn't feel as though he could move his mouth. He could not open his mouth to speak nor take in any food. His jaw gave off the feeling of being locked in place. He could only feel the warmth that intruded his face as he stared at the other man that still looked nothing of the sort with his slowly recovering vision. The finger that was held to his lips pressed down with the slightest pressure, barely enough to be considered pressure. This prompted George's lips to part on their own, to his surprise. What did that mean? 

One last tip of Dream's finger and the small piece of meat made its way into his mouth. It touched his tongue and felt as though it melted over his taste buds, an explosion of flavor flowing over every space it was allowed to grace with its taste. A hum of pleasure and appreciation sounded from him as an indication of his feelings. His stomach pleaded for more when it was gone. His mouth opened once again expectantly and the sound of Dream's half-hearted chuckle flitted to his ears. A much larger piece was placed against his tongue at his self explanatory request. 

This process repeated with two more fish, Dream feeding George and then waiting for the effects of him healing before he was given more of it. The entire time Dream treated him as if he was porcelain that would break at the slightest touch. George reveled in the way he was being cared for, immensely enjoying the pure concern he now knew was being felt for him. Dream had rushed down to save him. He now realized just how confused Dream must be. Dream was having to decide between accepting George as someone more than prey or carrying out his duty of ending George's life. Either way would probably hurt Dream in one way or another and George didn't want to make him choose. But George knew that his way was best. Dream going through the end portal with him and them taking on whatever happens together. Dream would be free of the murderous life he had most likely been forced into as servitude and George would have Dream. That's all he wanted right now. He knew it was more difficult than that for Dream though. Dream would have to think it over again and again and George would have to go between running from Dream's unhinged mind and being close to this loving side that reached out to George with opened, accepting arms. God, how George wished Dream would stay like this all the time. 

"You're so stupid you know," Dream pouted as he looked over George's nearly healed face. The entire time Dream had been kneeled by George's side, hand resting on his hip. George rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, you're the one who was chasing me you maniac," George retorted playfully, the word 'maniac' dancing on his tongue in jest of the other. Dream clicked his tongue in reply, shaking his head. 

"I didn't make you run straight into a tree root and fling you over the side of a ravine," a cocky smirk appeared in relation to his words. George opened his mouth in offense at the way Dream so easily insulted him. 

"You basically did. You were messing with me. I could have died and being down some from your dumb poke you did with your sword didn't help," George crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Dream snorted incredulously at George's accusation. 

"Dumb... _poke_?" Dream scoffed, a disbelieving laugh escaping his throat. "It's a _sword_ George, it's not just a _poke_ , I _stabbed_ you."

"Well.... whatever! It was more of a _swipe_ anyway," George argued still, his stubbornness taking front, revealing itself to Dream. 

"Oh come on," Dream's exasperated expression showed just by his mouth and body language. George stifled a giggle, wanting to keep the banter between them. "It's still a sword. I didn't just brush you with a spoon, it's a blade."

"I get it, I get it. I didn't treat it as anything less than a sword, I felt the pain that came with it," he didn't like the concern that had bubbled deep in Dream's words. Of course he loved the fact that Dream cared enough to be concerned for him but he didn't want a lecture on the fact that swords were indeed dangerous. 

"Didn't treat it as less than a sword- you literally just said I poked you with it," Dream started to giggle and George wanted to loop it forever. Dream's laugh was extremely contagious and George found himself giggling along with him. They were sat in a ravine George almost died in and they were _giggling_. This world was fucked. 

"Okay, okay, I get it! Let's move on," George so desperately wanted to ask Dream to go with him. To stay by his side as a friend and partner. As someone he could trust and confide in while he faced the dark creatures and fear provoking things the world provided. He wanted Dream to be with him until the End, beating the Ender Dragon alongside him. He didn't want to be on separate teams. Separate sides of the spectrum. Instead of hunter and hunted he wanted to be companion and companion. He wanted this journey to consist of both of them beside one another. 

"To what? I'm not sure I want to keep this conversation up," Dream joked, or at least George hoped so. George thought for a moment. The only thing that kept returning to the tip of his tongue was the one question he knew would ruin the cheery mood between them. But he wanted to know and he was too impatient for a return letter. He felt such a strong urge to ask that it was almost impossible to attempt not to ask. So he didn't, the words trickled out of his mouth and boy did they ruin the mood.

"Hey um... can't you just be by my side instead? What- why does it have to be Dream and the Ender Dragon and not Dream and George? It- it sounds stupid but I want you to beat the dragon with me and go through the portal together with me. I don't want to leave you behind or make it a game of cat and mouse where only one stays alive or gets out. I want us to go together," George got progressively more confident in his words as he said them. He wanted Dream to know that he was confident in wanting him by his side. He wanted Dream to have no choice but agree with him. He was right and Dream would not be able to deny it. Dream didn't seem to share that thought as he pulled his hand from George's hip. The touch that George had gotten used to was removed from him as he made his thoughts clear. He felt mad at himself. He could've waited for Dream to see his note and not have to deal with seeing this reaction. 

"George..." he could assume that Dream was looking to the side by the way his head turned ever so slightly in that direction. Dream was uncomfortable now, George could tell. George messed the moment up. One of the only moments he had to truly connect with Dream and get to talk to him. They were getting along so well. They're personalities meshed well. Dream made a small coughing noise. He was clearing his throat. "I can't do that. I..." Dream sighed and George observed the way the male's hands clenched and unclenched from their spot resting against his thighs. The mask was suddenly staring through him with a searing gaze as Dream whipped his head to George. "You don't even know me." 

The words had been spat with malice and George had absolutely no rebuttal. He was being eyed as if he were a stranger and in that moment he was. They weren't friends, George knew that so why did it hurt so bad when Dream said those words? Why did it hurt to realize that Dream was completely correct? George knew nothing about him no matter how much he desired to. Dream hadn't allowed George inside of his mind in the slightest and George had acted and made assumptions as if he were Dream's closest friend. George was in the wrong for letting his mind run wild with thoughts of a friendship blossoming between them. What reason would Dream have to choose him over the only thing he's known? Dream was a natural predator, someone who was meant for the hunt. 

"I'm going to go now George. Try not to die while I'm gone," Dream's voice sounded oddly empty. It was as if it had echoed through both of their heads after the words were uttered. George gave a small huff of a laugh that held no amusement. Both of them knew that George had ruined the nonchalant, peaceful mood between them.

"No promises," George muttered as his eyes followed Dream's body. Dream had started to scale the wall of the ravine with his axe across his back. George wanted to access the situation. Dream had an axe and could have easily cut him down while he had the chance yet he took care of George and hand fed him until he could move and joke around perfectly. Dream was also a good person. Dream was kind just as he'd called George. George's mind flashed to the note he left in the boat by his haven of water. Dream was halfway up the side of the ravine, having run out of places to scale and now had to staircase along the side with his dirt. A bubble of anxiousness threatened to pop as soon as he spoke but he opened his mouth anyway. "I left you another note! It's in the boat by the lake you found me at!"

"Okay George," the words barely reached him but they were stated with a defeated smile and huffed laugh. George somehow still managed to hang on to the thin threads that connected them. 

After Dream had gone George stayed still for a while thinking about what unfurled in front of his eyes. He couldn't see it but George assumed that Dream had fought something after jumping down beside him. There was a bridge to the opposite side of the ravine but nothing else to indicate the fight other than Dream's axe sitting beside him instead of slung over his shoulder while he fed George. George was glad that Dream had the decency to use George's cooked meat instead of slamming raw meat into his mouth again. But that was just another thing to confuse George. Dream was like an angel in his eyes when the world came back into view. The slight rays of sunlight that barely reached far enough to graze Dream's features, the soft smile that reassured George when he felt like he was dying, the light touch Dream had when dealing with him. It made his stomach sputter and turn with tingles spread throughout it. The pleasantness that came with the feeling made him think he would throw up flowers. Dream just looked so heavenly, even with none of his facial features showing except for that smile. That smile made George assume that Dream was looking at him with such endearment. Maybe he was wrong about the whole moment but it was hard to think about it in any other light. 

Once George had escaped his mind he remembered what exactly he had to do. He had to finish gathering supplies to get himself further along. He didn't know what to do after getting the materials, all he knew was that he needed to get them in order to keep up with Dream. So George stood and took his pickaxe into his hands, walking along the precarious edges as he mined more iron ore. He encountered no monsters as he tiptoed over ledges and placed cobblestone to connect the two sides of the ravine. He would use Dream's escape route and figure the rest out on his own. By the time he was on the bottom layer the top layers had been littered with random materials that made up bridges and the sides were dug into to create staircases to other layers. It looked thoroughly explored and exploited, water streams having been cut off from their sources in order for George to make it around them without having to worry about being pushed to the bottom from the pressure of them and lava falls being the only thing left to deal with. They poured over the bottom stone with inexorable heat. It radiated an unfathomable hotness that made you sweat if you were within 10 feet of it. George quite frankly didn't care to deal with it. He was used to colder temperatures and he did not like the idea of being near molten lava. 

He did block the lava from flowing anywhere other than straight down by surrounding the bottom with cobblestone. He didn't know how the cobblestone could hold up so well with the destructive touch of the hot golden liquid. It was orange, he knew, but he could compare it's look to a golden yellow through his colorblind vision. He wondered just how it looked without his colorblindness. 

The sky had also darkened in color, leaving him in complete darkness beyond the lava. The lava was a good source of light and added a beauty he didn't know he could find in the ravine. The bright glow it offered gave way to a touch of amazement at the ability to see it. 

He split off from the lava and continued scrounging around for any ores like a mouse searching for crumbs. He found gold ore and grabbed it as he went deeper into the dark caves. He didn't bother to hold a torch this time, wanting instead to have his shield in case something happened to sneak up on him. Him having food did not change the caution he wanted to take with caves. After his first experience he wasn't sure he wanted to allow himself to be caught in an explosion of a creeper. The cave was unbearably dark and he could barely make anything out but he held a strong sense of pride in his ability to finally be cautious. His previous mistakes were all because of him not being careful or focusing on what he needed to focus on. He needed to keep his mind present and not allow himself to succumb to tunnel vision. Glances to his sides whenever he was breaking something, keeping his shield ready to take hits for him, listening for any suspicious sounds, and trusting his senses. He didn't trust his vision last time as he thought he was being too paranoid about seeing things. He was wrong though and got a penalty for it. A very painful penalty. 

This time he paid attention to every little thing. He was glad when he noticed a spider pouncing from the ceiling as he caught it midair with his blade and pushed it into the ground, grinding his sword inside of it's internals. He was also thankful for the way he was able to catch a hoard of zombies slowly walking over to him with harmonious groans of everlasting hunger. He had fought them off, getting hit by some of them but ultimately making it. The problem though was that they didn't end. Every time he killed two it seemed like they were revived to the back of the group from the deep darkness that stretched beyond George's sight. But they couldn't have been, George witnessed the way they fizzled out of existence. 

George eventually got tired and he was becoming overwhelmed, being forced into using his shield more and more. He was getting frustrated and scared because they still seemed not to end. He meticulously looked around for an escape in desperation. An idea popped into his head and he backed himself up to create distance between him and the rotten flesh bags. He fumbled through his bag for cobblestone, still not used to looking through his bag and quickly grabbing the items he needed in emergency. He firmly grasped the material and started to tower up three cobblestone high, getting to the height he desired by the time he was surrounded by groaning, gaunt, shadowy silhouettes. He couldn't make out their features which he was happy for. After being able to distinctly make out the characteristics of the first zombie he encountered he no longer wanted to take in their physical attributes. "Go away," George shooed them with his hand, getting nowhere with the grunts that met his demand. _Braindead idiots_.

He hit them from his pillar, somehow reaching them without being reached himself. It was a wonderful thing, to be able to sit over a hoard of dead people and kill them all with no sweat. But this was not going to be lived forever as other creatures could crawl from the darkness and hit him from his tower. He eventually cut them all down and climbed down from his tower. He didn't bother tearing the tower down because he knew Dream already knew where he was. He didn't dare pick up any of the rotten flesh, not wanting it inside of his bag or anywhere near him for that matter. 

When he walked deeper into the cave, facing his fears of going where the zombies had come from, more seemed to miraculously pop out of thin air. George screeched, not able to control his emotions just yet, and slashed at one of them. His sword swept through both of them, leaving them with a slash in the same place as each other. George tried looking farther behind them and to his surprise there was something illuminating the area. A something with a spinning midsection. He dealt with the zombies quickly and went over to the glowing contraption kept inside of a cobblestone room, some of the cobblestone overgrown with mold. He examined the cage with a middle that continuously spun with no stop in sight. His eyebrows knitted with the confusion he was feeling. _What is this thing_? 

He didn't have to wonder long before two zombies materialized from nothing in front of his eyes. He once again yelled and made his fear known, swiping his sword to defend himself. As he was fighting the pair, more zombies continued to spawn until there was an outrageous amount that he couldn't fight at once. He wasn't aware of how he could stop their spawning so he ran away from the room with the imbeciles following behind.

George returned to his safe tower and placed three more pieces of cobblestone beside his previous tower, making the tower one that now had attained thickness. He waited for the walking corpses to reach him and slayed them from his tower as he'd done before. Luckily for him, no other mobs had come across him. He was extremely lucky to be skeleton free. He'd experienced being knocked from a tower by a skeletons arrow but he had not experienced being knocked from a tower into a pool of writhing, groaning, walking dead people that would gladly sink their teeth into his precious skin in order to satiate their hunger. 

When all of the zombies were dealt with he sat down on his tower to catch his breath and give his wrist a break from his sword. It was a miracle that he had been able to keep it steady in his hand for so long. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had dropped into the aggregation of terribly smelly creatures. The amount of death he could smell made him undoubtedly sick. Rotten death that made him so nauseous. 

George hadn't experienced night yet but it was dark in the caves so he could only guess that an absence of light was what allowed those creatures to spawn. He connected this to his torches that would shed light upon the mob spawner and then it would stop spawning. It was a theory he was willing to try. He didn't want to have to break it and have to come back to finish the zombies that spawned off. He was too tired to deal with anymore zombies. He wanted to sleep. 

George went about his predicament by pulling his torches out, sliding down the side of his tower, and running towards the room where it happens. He ran into the room and blindly put down his torches around the spawner that sat in the middle of the floor. He was pleasantly shocked by the way his hypothesis had worked and no more zombies popped out of the cage. He took in the room and almost gasped. Two chests were settled on adjacent walls and George was excited to loot them for goods. He opened the first chest, digging through the items. In this chest there was a few stray wheat bundles, three pieces of bread, random gunpowder and a saddle. In the second chest he got an apple that seemed to be wrapped in a layer of gold. It was cold to the touch and looked extremely valuable. He awed at it and stuck it into his bag, allowing a spot to be taken by it. He also had a few random pieces of string and seeds. He made sure to break the spawner before he left to go deeper into the cave. 

-

His fingers gingerly ran along the boat, his fingertips running along the divots that dotted the wood's surface. He smiled when he spotted the paper that had words printed across its surface. The deep color of the ink drew him in, willing him to read what it had been used to write. The way George wrote with such care compared to Dream even when he was the one being chased was oddly stupid but endearing all the same. Dream found it hard to believe that George could read his fast paced handwriting. 

He removed the oar from its spot on top of the paper, thinking about George's intelligence to have thought of putting it on top of the paper in order to keep it from being carried off with the breeze. Dream's eyes looked over the carefully written words, reading them with a slight accent as he wanted to see as much of George in the letter as he could. 

_**Hey** _

_**I'm glad I could make your morning a good one :)** _

_**If you feel that good about the smiley I'll use it until you're sick of it :) :) :)** _

_**Thank you for returning my clout goggles. They aren't stupid, you are :) But, for your information, I did have no idea that they were even there in the first place. I never felt them and they didn't fall or anything before you pat my hair. Speaking of which, why were you so damn bipolar? Nice one minute and then a dick the next. Also, the rotten flesh thing. Funny story, I might've accidentally eaten some after the creeper blew me up. I thought it was a different piece of meat. I feel horrible about it. Should I? I feel like a cannibal. I looked over my shoulder at the zombie because I truthfully expected it to be you. I know, I know. Stupid of me.** _

_**I'll try to value my life more but how can I do that when you act like an excited puppy when you talk to me? Unfair Nightmare. I'm glad I could comfort you. Were you perhaps having a nightmare? Or was it me touching the mask? Are you nervous about anyone seeing your face? You make me too curious. You're interesting.** _

_**I appreciate you looking out for me and I am scared of you but that won't stop me from trying to find out more about you. Sorry but I think it's worth it. Getting to know you, I mean. About what you said about only one of us making it out. Why can't we both get out? You shouldn't have to be stuck in a never-ending cycle of killing and chasing. You can come out through the end portal with me. Think about it please. I don't want to leave you here to repeat that cycle. I'll fight with you on it, whether that's through these notes or actual hand-to-hand combat. You'll most likely win the later though so I might stick to words if you don't mind :)** _

_**I agree that the letters are nice. They really are the only relieving and happy moments of my days here. Way to be possessive about the creeper Dreamie ;) you'll make me blush if you aren't careful. But seriously, don't apologize for me being in this situation. I must've done something to put myself in the situation. It's not your fault.** _

_**-Georgie :)** _

Dream snorted out a laugh at the first few sentences that addressed his like of George's use of smiles. His eyes picked out all of the times the smiles were drawn, each holding a slightly different look to them. Smiley faces were unique when hand drawn as they could look either cute or terrifyingly ugly. George managed to make them all cute, even the wink. But Dream did find the one that was placed beside the sentence calling him stupid a little uglier than the rest. 

Dream could only raise an eyebrow at the words that came with George's inability to feel goggles on his head. The raised eyebrow came down to knit with his other one at the mention of his tendencies to change his personality. He couldn't help his conflicting emotions when it came to George. He'd never felt this way about any other person he was hunting. He never wanted to get to know any of them, he never wanted to hear their laugh and laugh with them, he never wanted to develop relationships with them. It was scary and he wasn't sure what would happen to him if he didn't carry out his task. Would the Ender Dragon come to his mind with consequences? He couldn't be sure what would happen to him or George if he didn't at least give the illusion that he was trying to hunt him down. 

Dream felt bad that George had been having incredibly conflicting emotions about the rotten flesh only for Dream to leave a piece with his note. He felt like a dick.

His mouth twisted into an involuntary frown at the next words. Why did George think it was him? Why did George hope it was him? It was stupid of him and Dream wasn't doing a good enough job of distancing himself emotionally from George. He needed to terrify George in order for him to stop being curious. He needed to make George hate him. It was a bitter need but he no longer wanted George to think of him in the light that he did. His wants took a different turn, he wanted to continue letting George see him the way he did. He wanted George to be his friend. He wanted George. His wants didn't mean anything in this case though. Dream no longer cared about himself. He wanted George to win and he planned to let it happen. He just needed George to willingly want to leave without him. 

George thought of him so nicely. He loved the way George saw him. He loved the idea of leaving with George. He loved the idea of helping George and making it out together. It lined with his wants. He couldn't give in though. That would be selfish of him. He didn't know what would happen to either of them if he didn't go along with the Ender Dragon's wishes. Dream was much less of a gamemaster than a pawn in the master's plan. He didn't have control over his own life. 

He couldn't stop himself from indulging in the letters though. They were all he had. The only thing that was his own. He needed this one thing to keep him grounded. The one thing that he could be himself through to the one person he cared about. 

Dream found those thoughts dissipating as he read the next line, a bashful grin spreading over his lips. His smile was wide, feeling as if it would reach his rosy cheeks. Dreamie. He loved it. The words accompanying the nickname helped in no way to make his blush disappear. The ending didn't help either and Dream felt as though he could burst from pure affection at the way George used the nickname Dream gave to sign the letter and had made a blob of his own with clout goggles and all. He adored it. 

Dream pulled his materials out to write his reply to the letter George gave him. He had watched George gather supplies for future letters with a large, giddy smile on his face. Dream couldn't let himself be seen when George was so excited to write a letter to him. He couldn't break that grin because it was a grin that was caused by the mere thought of George writing a letter to Dream. He was in mind when paired with that grin. 

_**Georgie :)))** _

_**You're such a cutie ♡** _

_**I couldn't get sick of the smiles no matter how much you use them.** _

_**I stand by my statement of your clout goggles being stupid. I am not, obviously. You're ability to not feel things that you're wearing is ridiculous. How do you not notice both goggles on your head and a bag?? I can seem bipolar because I have conflicting emotions about you. Also, you aren't a cannibal or anything. Don't feel too bad about that. I don't think zombies come from actual people unless they're a zombie villager. You'd be able to tell, don't worry. They seem to spawn at night or in the dark, I have no explanation for it. You also shouldn't expect anything or make any assumptions because they can be dangerous. Remember the difference between me when I'm hunting you and me when I'm writing letters to you. They are very different sides of me.** _

_**I'll try to keep the excited puppy look to a minimum. It's hard when I am excited to see you and talk to you. It's just that I'm being selfish though. I'm not allowed to be excited or happy like that. I'm sorry George. I also can't tell you what was going on then, it's unsafe to know more about me. You might want to drop it. You won't get anything out of me anyway you stubborn donkey.** _

_**I can't stop you from trying to get to know me but I will tell you that you won't get any information out of it. Your questions will go unanswered. I will tell you again and again, getting to know me isn't worth it. I will answer your questions just this once so you will stop trying to get out as a pair. We can't both get out because it doesn't work like that. I have a duty to the dragon, to stop whoever gets put here from killing her and leaving alive. I don't know what she'll do if I go against that. I don't want you hurt by anything other than me George. I want to be able to control the amount you get hurt so I can do something about it. I won't be stuck in the cycle if you beat the dragon. You can get me out by beating both of us. Don't hesitate to hurt me, okay? I wish I could come with you but I can't. Please don't fight me on this.** _

_**I'm happy you feel the same about the letters :) The creeper, yes. Maybe I want to make you blush. Seeing you with such a pretty color on your handsome face sounds nice.**_

_**Even if you did something to put yourself in this situation I can't help myself from apologizing. I'm the opposing side. I fight you and hunt you and try to kill you. It's horrible.** _

_**-Dreamie** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gbye hope you liked <3


	6. si x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters. That's the chapter. LOL

George parted ways with the darkness of the caves once he stepped out into the light that veiled the ravine. His eyes stung when the light which felt so foreign attacked them. He had to shield his eyes from the brutal light, squinting to try keeping a snippet of his vision. He was now fully adorned in heavy iron armor that itched at his legs and weighed him down. He constantly felt a pressure on all parts of his body, an uncomfortable situation he wished he could alleviate in some way. He figured that he would eventually be able to grow used to the extra weight and irritatingly hard plates of iron. It was a worthy price to have a protective barrier around his vital body parts. Even the parts that weren't vital he still didn't want to lose in a fight against anything, that anything most likely being Dream. 

George trailed his way to the top of the ravine, staircases ready for use from his previous chipping and addition to the ravine's natural stone shelves. There was of course an exception to the dirt staircase that Dream had used to leave George behind with his thoughts. It still stung, the thought of Dream leaving on the tiny thought that George threw out about leaving together. George guessed that he wasn't going to get anymore letters in return. Dream was distancing himself besides being a killer, George knew that. 

George was disproved as his foot touched the top of the staircase and his eyes caught sight of a peculiar setup. Surrounding a bed were random pieces of cobblestone as if Dream had been throwing them around and skipping all over the place, merrily jumping from stone to stone in erratic patterns. Tucked into the sheets of the bed was a piece of paper littered with better handwriting than the last time George had been greeted with the chickenscratch of letters. 

He walked over to the letter and picked it up with a smile of relief. Dream didn't care about the question George had asked. If he had then he wouldn't write another letter back to a letter that asked the same exact question that had him leaving George alone. 

_**Georgie :)))** _

_**You're such a cutie ♡** _

_**I couldn't get sick of the smiles no matter how much you use them.** _

_**I stand by my statement of your clout goggles being stupid. I am not, obviously. You're ability to not feel things that you're wearing is ridiculous. How do you not notice both goggles on your head and a bag?? I can seem bipolar because I have conflicting emotions about you. Also, you aren't a cannibal or anything. Don't feel too bad about that. I don't think zombies come from actual people unless they're a zombie villager. You'd be able to tell, don't worry. They seem to spawn at night or in the dark, I have no explanation for it. You also shouldn't expect anything or make any assumptions because they can be dangerous. Remember the difference between me when I'm hunting you and me when I'm writing letters to you. They are very different sides of me.** _

_**I'll try to keep the excited puppy look to a minimum. It's hard when I am excited to see you and talk to you. It's just that I'm being selfish though. I'm not allowed to be excited or happy like that. I'm sorry George. I also can't tell you what was going on then, it's unsafe to know more about me. You might want to drop it. You won't get anything out of me anyway you stubborn donkey.** _

_**I can't stop you from trying to get to know me but I will tell you that you won't get any information out of it. Your questions will go unanswered. I will tell you again and again, getting to know me isn't worth it. I will answer your questions just this once so you will stop trying to get out as a pair. We can't both get out because it doesn't work like that. I have a duty to the dragon, to stop whoever gets put here from killing her and leaving alive. I don't know what she'll do if I go against that. I don't want you hurt by anything other than me George. I want to be able to control the amount you get hurt so I can do something about it. I won't be stuck in the cycle if you beat the dragon. You can get me out by beating both of us. Don't hesitate to hurt me, okay? I wish I could come with you but I can't. Please don't fight me on this.** _

_**I'm happy you feel the same about the letters :) The creeper, yes. Maybe I want to make you blush. Seeing you with such a pretty color on your handsome face sounds nice.** _

_**Even if you did something to put yourself in this situation I can't help myself from apologizing. I'm the opposing side. I fight you and hunt you and try to kill you. It's horrible.** _

_**-Dreamie** _

George couldn't help his eyes from widening at the first line of the letter. "You're such a cutie..." with a drawn heart right beside it. George could choke on his own spit at the short opening sentence. It set his face and ears ablaze with a burning red color. The next sentence was no help but George figured it wasn't due to him using the smiles so much as the smile symbol being something Dream couldn't get sick of. 

On a more serious note, George read the next paragraph with care, taking in all the information with a focused brain. Of course he couldn't help the small chuckle at the first four sentences. The fifth sentence discussing Dream's bipolar tendencies gave him an answer to the thought he had. George had thought that Dream was struggling with his feelings towards him. The crisis of doing what you want versus what you have the responsibility to do. George was that thing that made Dream's world turn upside down. He was the one who made Dream's head spin between choices. He was the one. No one else had done that to Dream before. His chest swelled with a greedy sense of pride. 

He had forgotten about the cannibalistic guilt towards his consumption of rotten flesh before reading the lines that reassured him that he didn't need to feel that way. The words weren't sweet but they were comforting nonetheless. They completely overrode the fear George had of him accidentally eating human flesh. They were random monsters that spawned, decaying corpses but not those of real people. They had been spawned that way instead of being turned by the others. He suddenly no longer felt bad about killing them either. Not that he did in the first place. If it were to actually be a person then he would have been doing them a justice by ending their desolate rot. But Dream also wrote in the note for George not to make so many assumptions. Dream was against George making assumptions and being happy about seeing him. Why was Dream showing two sides of himself in the first place? George's mind wouldn't be able to handle the stark differences between the Dream that he encountered face to face and the Dream which he had a pen pal relationship with. _Dream's cute in the letters._

_Dream's so cute in the letters._ He was outside of the letters too but George couldn't think that. He wouldn't think that way in a few days. But when he acts like an excited puppy and then exclaims that it's hard not to when he feels so much excitement to see and talk to George, it made it hard not to think that he was adorable. But the concern that George felt when reading the next sentences overwhelmed the affection the previous ones brought. Why would Dream be selfish to feel a certain way? He's a person, he has emotions too and he's allowed to feel them. Apparently Dream didn't share those views on the situation. He felt as though he wasn't allowed to feel those emotions. George couldn't wrap his head around why Dream would feel that way. He felt the need to apologize for _feeling._ George found it ridiculous. He also found it ridiculous that Dream would call him a stubborn donkey for trying to pry Dream into telling him more about himself. Dream was being ridiculous for even thinking that discouraging George would stop him from trying to get to know him. George still thought that getting to know Dream was one of the only things worth it in this world. It was all he could do besides focusing on his main mission. It was all he really cared to do in the world besides get out of it. 

Dream gave some answers still though. He said it was the last time. If George begged with pleading puppy dog eyes would Dream cave and tell him everything? George wished it was that easy. 

George went through several stages when reading the words that were meant to give him answers. First he didn't understand at all. He thought Dream was spewing bullshit and should just make decisions for himself but then he read Dream's worries. Dream wasn't aware of what would happen to the both of them if he went against the dragon. He was too terrified of what could happen if he went against her. He wasn't afraid for himself, he was afraid for George. He wanted nothing but himself to have control over the pain George was in. George had to beat the dragon for the both of them with Dream trailing behind. As long as George got to the End Dream would be able to trail in behind him. Dream could come in and the dragon would be too worried by George's presence to realize that Dream was on George's side. It all made sense to George. Dream would pretend to be on the dragon's side so that George could free them both. He was willing to get hurt by George so that they could both be okay in the end. That means that Dream could come with him. Dream could help him in the End. He didn't need Dream to help him with anything else as long as the dragon believed that Dream was on her side. He could help not only himself but also Dream. George could have a purpose and duty in this world. He could help Dream get out of his cycle of emotionally tormental murder. He didn't need to fight Dream on this. They could be a secret team. After they got out they could happily know each other outside of letters. 

George, still ecstatic from his realization, was not ready for the next line which hit him hard. Like paint was splashed over his face, it was turned red with a thick blush. The exact thing that Dream's letter said he wanted. His "handsome face" was now blazing because of Dream's comment. He could barely breathe from the unexpectedness. He had expected everything past the first few sentences to be entirely serious and downputting. He was wrong once again, the unpredictability of Dream shining once again.

George couldn't help but take notice of the blobs drawn beside the nickname George gave Dream instead of allowing the last lines to dampen his mood. Dream had used the nickname and the blob George made for himself. Dream had drawn his plain blob beside George's blob, pushing it's cheek into the side of a blushing George blob's cheek. _Fuck_ , George was a goner. 

-

_**Dreamie :) :)** _

_**You used my nickname for you :)** _

_**Cutie... you'll make me throw up. Besides, you're the cute one who I'll make sick of his signature smiley :) :) :) :) :)** _

_**I still stand by you being stupid. I mean your ability to be so stupid is the ridiculous thing. I knew you had conflicting emotions about me, nothing new. Thanks for telling me at least. Also, thank you so much for reassuring me about the cannibalism thing. I was feeling so guilty about it but knowing that they spawned into the world as zombies instead of people really helps. I saw a spawner earlier actually. It was crazy. The cage with the spinning thing in the middle is called a spawner right? I figured it would be since zombies were poofing out of nowhere. Really scared me for a bit, I didn't know where they were coming from and it was getting overwhelming.** _

_**I'll try not to make so many assumptions. I know they're super dangerous and you apparently wouldn't want that for me, yeah? It's the two sides thing. You seem to be really conflicted right now and I just want to say that you're okay. You'll be able to figure it out, I believe that you can. I want you to figure it out in terms of what's best for you. You seem to keep everything but yourself in mind when you make decisions and that worries me. If you never think about yourself how are you going to be happy? I wish you'd think about yourself sometimes.** _

_**Please don't stop looking at me with that excitement. I don't care if that's going to put my mind in a weird state of not knowing how to treat you when we're face to face. Seeing you so happy just to see and talk to me makes me really happy too. I know that something in this world wants me around even though the world put us against each other. Seeing you scares me shitless but at the same time I'm happy and excited too. Besides me liking your presence, I want to address what you said. You better not blow this off. You aren't selfish for feeling something and not pushing it down. You are a person who has emotions that you are allowed to feel.** _

_**I don't care how many times you try to get me to stop asking more about you. Little by little I'll get to know you. Even if it's something simple like your favorite color. That's a good idea, what's your favorite color? I'm actually colorblind so I probably won't exactly know what your favorite color looks like but I still want to know.** _

_**Okay, serious time. Dream. I need you to know that I still want to go out together. I understand your argument and I know you're scared to go against the dragon. Fighting by the dragon's side is also all you've ever known. I know you're scared that I'll get hurt by something outside of yourself. I don't care if I get hurt though Dream. I care about you more than that. It's weird considering how long I've known you but we've exchanged enough letters for me to grasp what kind of person you are. Just like how you want to protect me, I want to protect you. I want to help you. Here's my proposal. Since you're scared of the dragon doing something if we get too close or it looks like you aren't trying to kill me, how about we stay pen pals and you continue to chase after me and make it believable while I get to the End. This can open up to you coming into the End with me and the dragon will be too focused on fighting me to notice that you're around and that you're helping me. The dragon can't do anything if we're killing her. Then we can jump hand in hand into the portal and finally have a relationship outside of paper. You don't even have to help me fight the dragon, you can just be there and watch. I want both of us out alive and unharmed. I don't want to have to hurt you. Please just think about it. I know it's a stretch but I won't give up until you say yes. What would be selfish of you would be becoming my friend only to make me hurt or abandon you here. I'll cry if that happens and I'm a pretty emotionally repressed person.**_

_**You really are the biggest flirt y'know. If you actually saw me read the letter than you'll know, if not then that sucks for you.**_

_**Again, even if the situation sucks it isn't your fault. You're doing what you have to do and what you think is right. I understand Dreamie. Don't worry and don't apologize :)** _

_**-Georgie** _

The first thing Dream noticed were the excess smiley faces. He couldn't stop the wheeze that escaped him and continued through the reading of the first five lines. George's personality, his humor, was something that Dream adored. Dream only learned to adore that part of him more through the letters they exchanged. Banter between them came so naturally despite the nature of their relationship. Predator and prey laughing at each other's jokes and calling each other stupid in a sickeningly endearing way. The two of them had an interesting dynamic, anyone would think. 

George must also be picking things up about him through the letters. George evidently knew that Dream was having conflicting emotions about him before Dream told him. That was concerning when Dream was trying to create distance between them. It would be okay if he only did it through the notes right? As long as George couldn't read Dream's actions he should be fine. He would be quite the careless hunter if he let himself become predictable. 

Knowing he helped comfort George made Dream happier than it should have. Dream wouldn't be able to go through with his plan to bring George to be petrified at the thought of him if he kept thinking the way he did. George was nothing to Dream but someone that needed to be disposed of. That was it. Someone he needed to push to beat the game so that they could be free. No, not they. There was no they in this situation. There was only a _him_. 

The news of George coming across a spawner was shocking. Dream deducted that it could only possibly be a dungeon. Nothing else would spawn zombies. That means that George could have some pretty valuable loot. He wouldn't know the first thing to do with something like a golden apple though. Dream hadn't explained items such as those to George. He didn't expect George to creep into his head and obscure his mission like he had at the time of explaining. He only expected explaining to make the hunt more interesting. He never would have guessed that George would start a chain of letters that would get them to know each other a little more. George was interesting. 

Dream felt like crying as he read the next lines. Like a tidal wave, his emotions struck. George was too good for him. The irreproachable fondness and solace that the statement filled him with was overwhelming. George really just wanted the best for Dream. George wanted Dream to make his own decisions that would benefit himself, even if those decisions didn't align with what would benefit him. It made Dream's chest fill with a fuzzy haze. If he were to walk around inside of his chest he would be blindly walking through a field of pulsing warmth. Having someone care for him was new and it made him nauseatingly pleased. He felt like he would throw up and sob at the same time. He wasn't sure what to do with the emotions that wouldn't show no matter what his want was. Whether he wanted them to show or not they wouldn't. His emotions were used to being repressed so much that they no longer functioned correctly. 

More emotions piled on top of his freshly gathered ones, his heart basket becoming more full with every word his mind took in. George wanted Dream to look at him with the same excitement and happiness as he had. George was practically begging Dream to want his company if not him. George wanted to see Dream too despite the fear that comes with their encounters. Dream felt wanted. The fuzzy feeling clouding his chest only grew. 

These emotions that were constantly being pushed down inside of him, the feelings that felt foreign to his mind and heart, the confusing emotions that he no longer understood. George wrote that those were normal. George wrote that he was supposed to feel them. George wrote that Dream was allowed to feel them. Dream was allowed to _feel_. He didn't always need to push the emotions away. He wasn't selfish to let them show. He wasn't selfish for holding those emotions dear to him and letting someone in to see them. He wanted George to see them. He wanted George to speak softly to him and cup his face in his gentle fingers while whispering these sweet words to him. He wanted to hear them come out of George's mouth in that caring voice. He wanted them to fill his ears, mind, and heart. He wanted to _feel_. 

Tears started to prick at Dream's eyes but they were being held back. He didn't want enough. Perhaps he wanted to save all of his emotions for George to see. He wanted to experience his emotions when George was there to hold him and make sure he made it through the tsunami. Years worth of emotions that had been precisely tossed aside into a tetris game of repression. His pieces were no longer aligning and they were reaching the top. They were reaching the game over mark but Dream couldn't care. George wanted to know more about him. George wanted to experience knowing Dream, something that Dream thought was a worthless effort. Dream's throat began to sting with the unshed tears he was holding within his eyes. 

He didn't want to allow his floodgates to open but they did without asking for permission. Before he knew it he was reading through the largest paragraph that had been exchanged between the two with tears collecting at the brim of his mask. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that George wouldn't give up on him. George wanted to know him, George wanted him to feel, George wanted him to think for himself, George wanted him to be protected, and George wanted to leave this world behind together. George had come up with a plan for them. A damn good plan. A plan that would be hard to argue against. Why did Dream want to argue against it? Fear? 

A pang hit Dream's heart as he saw the admission George made of being emotionally repressed. Something in common feeling wise. They could feel together. Dream wanted nothing more than to hold George and have George hold him as they cried together. They both needed it. 

Dream had seen George read the letter. He had seen the pretty crimson shade that painted George's gorgeous face. He had seen the way he sported a bashful grin. George's smile was large, adorable, and beautiful. It highlighted his best features. Dream cherished George's smile. 

That gorgeous man was making him feel too many emotions. None of the emotions were bad. They were terribly amazing feelings that Dream couldn't handle. George truly cared for Dream and made sure he always knew that the predicament both of them were in was not Dream's fault. George understood Dream and it scared Dream as much as it made him effervescent. 

All of these emotions and Dream had to wreck it. Dream had to grab his axe and slice through all of the chances he had to keep George by his side. He had to ruin the care and affection that George held him with. 

The drawing George signed with was George's blob hitting Dream's blob with it's head, dark lines marking a blush on it's cheeks. The drawing brought happiness the first time Dream glanced at it, it was a continuation of his own, how could he not? But he no longer felt anything but sadness looking at it.

-

George had been traveling for a while, something that prevented many letters from being given. After the letter he left Dream it took around a day for this letter to end up in his possession. He was being trailed all the way though. He could feel Dream's eyes on his back, digging into him with a gaze that could only be described as one of pleading. It didn't make him afraid because the way it felt could only evoke desperation. All he wanted to do was reach his hand out with a smile and wait for Dream to appear and take it. Not being able to read his response had been eating George up inside. Barely anything had happened in that day besides the sun relentlessly beating down on him as he pushed through fields of long grass and small flowers. The animals all stared as he passed them, none showing the fear that one would think that they would show. Their eyes were vacant and put him on edge more than Dream's stare did. All he knew was that Dream hadn't approached him at all in that day's wait. He wasn't chased any and it was starting to get to him. 

Even now George hadn't found the letter by a confrontation. They hadn't ever given letters confrontationally save for the first Dream had given him but he found himself expecting something more than the hurriedly thrown piece of paper. Nothing was around, not even animals. It was at the base of a small tree in the middle of nowhere. George couldn't understand how Dream had evaded his meticulous eyes as they darted around the empty field. Dream was truly a master of his craft. 

George was only confused by this as Dream seemed as though he was running away from him. Dream didn't want to be seen even though he could easily take on George. Dream was still supposed to be hunting him. George took this into thought, looking at the inked letters that he hoped held the answers he searched for. 

_**Georgie, you used my nickname for you too :)** _

_**Although you used an excessive amount of smileys I'm still not sick of them. You forget that I see a smiley every day when I look at my reflection.**_

_**Haha so funny, I'm stupid. But I'm glad I could reassure you, it wasn't something I would continue to let you feel bad about. And you did run into a spawner, good job staying alive :) You don't need my help all the time I guess. Impressive.** _

_**I definitely wouldn't want you to make dangerous assumptions. I don't want you in danger by anything. It is the two sides thing, sorry. The conflict between my heart and my mind maybe. I've been conditioned to be one way and to do one thing so when you're here and all I want to do is help you and be by your side instead of against you it's confusing and it hurts. Thank you for trying to say I'll be able to make a decision. Also for saying that I should make my own decisions. Breaking out of the habit of doing things for anyone but myself might be too hard to do though. If I can't break it please just stab me or something. Maybe that'll set my head straight. I've never thought about doing things for my own happiness. The only thing that makes me happy right now is you.** _

_**You've doomed yourself really. If you let me look at you like that it'll lead to your own demise. I'll look like that but still be attacking you, it doesn't seem like a healthy relationship to me. But you saying it makes you happy to see me like that... it'll make me continue looking at you like that. But I don't want to put your head in that state of confusion. I don't want you to be as confused as I am. I also am not going to blow off most things that you say so I'll address it too. I want to feel something. I want to feel emotions and I want to feel them by you. It's weird but you saying that made me emotional. Don't get hope though, I can't let myself get caught up in my feelings. For your sake I'm going to distance myself from you emotionally. We won't become partners just because of my emotions.**_

_**My favorite color is green. What's your favorite color? What colors can you see? What color is this? Tell me everything :)** _

_**I know you want to leave together. I know that I can barely do anything that would stop you from feeling that way. I am scared to go against the dragon and I hold your safety a lot higher than my own. Killing people... it's all I've ever done and it's all I ever will do. You are so much better than me and you should realize that. I don't care what happens to me, I just want you to make it out. Please just do it. You being able to see all of these things about me, it's scary. You understand me and that's something I never should have let you gain the ability to do. Your proposal isn't bad it's just that I don't think I would be able to keep myself far away from you or keep a hostile act towards you if we were to agree upon that idea. I would if there was a way to control myself but there isn't. I would be selfishly putting you in more danger just by agreeing to do that. I want it too but I can't go off of my wants knowing how they could have a bad effect on you. Maybe I shouldn't continue to send you letters or replying to yours. I feel like anything I do in this situation is only going to harm you in some way. If I cut ties now then I won't have to hurt you by you carrying out the process and leaving me behind. That would be for the best, would it not?** _

_**I flirt because of the exact reaction I got out of you. I saw it, that pretty color on your face. God, you really are handsome. Thinking about me being the one who made you that red... :)** _

_**-Dreamie** _

The first point of the letter was something George had never thought about before. Dream's whole being was symbolised by a smiley face whether it was his mask or his blob drawing. Every single day of his life Dream had woken up with his mask securely on his face and every single time he looked in a reflective surface all he saw staring back was the eerily cheery smile mask. Dream wouldn't get sick of something he was so used to. When was the last time that Dream had seen his own face? 

George felt a small sense of pride when his efforts were acknowledged by Dream even when it was a simple praise that had an insult mixed into it. Of course George didn't need Dream all of the time. He didn't need Dream period. He didn't need him at all. George didn't need him but he wanted him. Oh how George wanted Dream to be around him all of the time watching his back and protecting him. It was far from something that could be obtained. 

The next point Dream responded to was interesting. George got to know more about Dream through this paragraph. Firstly, Dream reinforced his desire to keep George safe in some way. Secondly, Dream had a serious case of contemplation on his hands. On one side Dream's mind was telling him that he needed to be a menacing monster of a predator who killed mercilessly and on another side Dream's heart was telling him that he needed to be by George's side and protect him. His heart was telling him what he wanted to do while his mind was telling him that he shouldn't have wants for himself. His mind was conditioned to force himself into a state of suppression. His mind told him that emotions are only a crippling weakness, that he didn't deserve to have happiness, and that his decisions should only be based on his mission. His heart wanted nothing more than to open itself up to George and to stay by his side. This was a huge hint at Dream's state of mind. Dream was so confused and George wanted to punt whoever made his mind such a mess. Dream didn't know how to choose for himself and wasn't used to his own happiness playing a part in decisions. George couldn't allow himself joy over Dream's only source of happiness being himself. It was sad, Dream didn't have anything else for him here. Dream and George were one in the same. George needed to make Dream realize that he could leave this place and all of his fears that were tied to this place behind. He wouldn't be alone in making those steps with George right by his side. 

George was well aware that Dream's look of happiness would lead him down a dark path. But he wouldn't consider their relationship a toxic one. He made Dream happy and Dream wanted to protect him. Their situation was the only thing that was causing their relationship to take a toxic tilt. The rose they shared had wilted edges but with some communication and a loving hand they could prevent death from overtaking it. 

George's heart skipped a beat at the words that fumbled around in his mind only to crash down and fizzle away. Dream said that he wanted to feel and feel by George's side at that. It frustrated George to no end that Dream wasn't going to give in to that longing. He had made Dream feel something and show it and that was a start in his book. But it wasn't much of a start with Dream grabbing his emotions and stuffing them back down. Dream's emotional walls had returned and he was going to try distancing himself. George had no desire to allow that to happen. He wasn't going to allow Dream to push him away. He couldn't stand the mere idea of it. 

George couldn't wrap his head around how fast Dream changed the subject in the letter. To be completely honest it was mostly George's fault considering that's how he wrote his own letter but he never noticed how shocking it could be trying to digest serious paragraphs with a complete subject change striking in the next paragraph. But he had George's whole heart with what he said. The complete interest he showed made George feel like he cared. It wasn't just that he was showing interest, it was that he had stuck a flower onto the paper and asked what color it was. It was a sneakily flirtatious gesture with no flirtatious remark to accompany it. It made George's heart feel light. 

The flower was connected to the paper by a piece of string that had been poked through gently made, clean holes and tied at the back. It wasn't a particularly pretty flower nor was it extravagant but it made George's heart flutter nonetheless. The flower was a dull yellowish-brown in his eyes but he knew that the color had to have been red. Such a basic color yet one so hard to distinguish. The petals formed a small overlapping circle around a slightly darker middle area. It was simple yet pretty. He caught the wide grin that had positioned itself on his lips but did nothing to rid himself of it. He was happy at this small gesture. It proved that Dream wanted to get to know him. He'd gone through the process of creating small holes for the string and successfully tying it to the paper without creating any creases. His handwriting was also a lot better, George observed. Dream's handwriting was actually neat and nice when he tried. 

George let the next paragraph sweep his grin away with a fatal blow. Emotions were high in the paragraph. Dream had told the absolute truth. His handwriting was shakier in the area and only grew stronger once the paragraph was over. The paragraph was meant to discourage him yet it did the opposite. Dream continuously told him that it wasn't a good idea and that it would only put him in more danger but George didn't care much for these empty excuses. George didn't need all of this protection. George was a grown man capable of slicing down hoards. George didn't need to be treated like he was as fragile as glass. George should have a vote in what happens too, not just Dream doing what he thinks is best for George. Dream didn't know what was best for George, George did. What was best for George in this world? It was simple really. Dream was what was best for him in this world. Maybe it was different in his own world but that didn't matter because his current situation was that of this world. Dream offered more safety than he could ever have otherwise. Yes, Dream was chasing him on a mission of murder but Dream's threats were empty. If Dream wanted George dead he would have already killed him. Dream would never know how much trouble they'd encounter once the dragon realized that Dream wasn't on her side anymore until something of the sort was executed. Dream was placing George on a pedestal above all else in his world despite knowing little about George's previous life endeavors. George didn't know how great of a person he actually was but he didn't think he would place himself above Dream in any way. Dream killed people, yes, but he was also a victim. George didn't know exactly why Dream was stuck in the situation he was currently in but he also knew that Dream wanted out of it. George wanted to be treated as an equal. He didn't want to be treated like porcelain or an angel. 

Understanding. George barely thought he had any part of Dream understood. Dream was an enigma, truly. Yet Dream thought that George understood him so well. George didn't know why Dream thought that way. Dream was scared by something that wasn't even remotely true. Dream had blamed himself for something that wasn't even remotely true. It made George irritated at the male. Why did Dream always feel the need to blame himself?

Again, Dream doubted himself enough to stop from attempting something. It wasn't a doubt on his skills, it was a doubt built around George. Dream stated that he couldn't control himself when it comes to his wants and George. If this were the case in actuality than Dream would already be on George's side. If this were the case than Dream wouldn't have controlled himself up to this point. Dream was spewing bullshit excuses for why he couldn't join George. Dream was scared of being by George's side. What had Dream so scared that he would convince himself that these excuses were truthful? Was he scared of giving in to his wants? Was he scared of stepping out of his comfort zone? Was he scared to experience new things? Was.. he scared of a different kind of relationship blooming with George?

George didn't care. George didn't care because he didn't want Dream to stop sending him letters. He didn't care because he didn't want ties with Dream to be cut. George didn't care if he would end up hurt in the event that he _did_ have to leave Dream behind. George didn't care because Dream might stop interacting with him besides maliciously. If Dream cut ties George wouldn't be able to see the soft smile that had comforted him in his time of need again. George wouldn't be able to see the smirk that Dream gained when he was teasing or being flirtatious. George wouldn't be able to get to know Dream. George wouldn't be able to see Dream bathed in a gorgeous afternoon light with a light touch on his hip from said man's hand. George wouldn't be able to hear Dream's laugh. George would cease to function.

George was panicked. How could Dream say that it would be better? How could Dream give up on them like that? How could Dream ignore George's feelings entirely? How could Dream consider that? How could Dream change the subject and shamelessly flirt with George after telling him they shouldn't talk anymore? How could George's body betray him with a stale blush after what Dream had said previously?

It hurt and it only hurt more at the drawing of the laughing blob that had a heart settled above it's head as it stared at the furious, blushing George blob. 

_**Dreamie.** _

_**I forgot about your mask, must have slipped my mind while I was focused on other things.** _

_**You are stupid. I don't even care that you complimented me more than once during that letter. You can't be serious about cutting communication with me. Dream please don't. You're all I have here, I can't make it without you. You're my anchor. I just want to get to know you and hold you and not fight you. Please.** _

_**You say you don't want me in danger of anything but I don't see you by my side protecting me. You are selfish. You make idiotic excuses that don't matter in the end. You deflect from the situation at hand and state that it's because you want to protect me. You know what Dream? Fuck you. I'm not a fragile object that can be broken at the simple lift of a finger. I'm a grown man who is capable without you. I don't want you to protect me, I want you to stay by me. I don't just want you because you're more skilled or because you're pretty. I couldn't give a shit whether you sucked ass at combat or if you were as ugly as a goblin, you're you. Your true personality is so nice and I hate you for it. I hate you for it. All you do is blame yourself and give in to your fears. Suck it up. You aren't perfect.** _

_**You infuriate me. You are so confusing and you suck. You constantly try to make decisions for us when there is no us in your mind. You're only thinking about yourself. If you were actually thinking about us you'd take what I say into consideration. You don't though, all you do is give lame excuses based on evidence that isn't even there for how you want to protect me and that the only way to do that is to leave me. No. I refuse to let you leave me in the dust because of uncertainties. Just listen to me Dream. Read all I've said before in my letters. Think about the times we've interacted. Do you actually want to give up? Do you seriously want to get rid of me that badly?** _

_**George** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh shit George is popping off
> 
> angy George what will he do?


	7. sev en

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is it because you hate me? I infuriate you hm? I'm so selfish for wanting to protect you hm?" Dream's words dripped with venom, his grip on George growing tighter every exaggerated word that he uttered. George felt ashamed, he felt terrible.

George regretted writing such a letter as the one that had somehow disappeared from his possession. There was no other person that would have taken the letter written with such high emotion than the man targeted by it. They were George's true feelings about the situation but the letter was harsh. He had taken the time to rewrite a new one in the time between when he wrote the old one and now. He had traveled for a while with no disturbances from Dream. It irked him. He hated it. 

At all times, George could feel his movements being tracked under the meticulous eyes of the taller man. His every move was being taken into consideration by the eyes, certain malice behind the gaze piercing his skin. It hurt to know that even when Dream's eyes were watching him, he wasn't replying. George had yet to get a reply to the letter that he had written, and it scared him. He messed their relationship up; he was sure of it. His blunt words had torn into Dream's mechanical mind in an attempt to get through to him. The words were rude, and George had written them in a time of rage at the audacity that Dream had to try cutting their contact. It was funny how something addressing Dream's thought to cut contact with him was going to be the sealing deal of their relationship's hopeless fate. He would stay if he could. He would stay and open his arms to Dream even though he wasn't a touchy person. He would cradle the taller male and whisper soft words of comfort if only he could. He would stay and not attempt to go back to his world. Their situation prevented it, but now he had messed the tiny thought of it up. Their relationship was now too strained to offer such thoughts. Dream was now assessing his prey with the eye of an eagle. The wolf returns to grasp the bunny within his strong jaw and bite down with no remorse. 

The area around him now was completely different from the dark oak forest and the plains that he had previously run through. Trees coated the area like the dark oak forest, but it was treacherous. These trees were spruce, their look holding that of a Christmas tree. Their pine needles extended out in warning of the dangers ahead of them. George would not listen to the trees as the danger behind him was much more terrifying than anything the area could provide. Monsters no longer bothered George because he knew they were idiots. He knew that they no longer had a conscious mind as Dream did. They were simply held together due to magic. Dream wasn't like them—he was a person. He had a conscious mind that worked against him sometimes. He had a conscious mind that would work against George a lot more than it could work against himself. Dream was a skilled hunter and a skilled individual. He was a natural with a sword, and he was a natural with axes as well. George didn't know what Dream was like with a bow, but he was positive that he was simply skilled with all weapons. Dream probably knew how to use a spoon as a weapon. Dream in his own right was the only monster that this world had to offer. 

The air around George was cold, but he was used to the cold. He was not bothered in such a climate. His exposed arms would gain goosebumps at the very least, but he himself wouldn't bat an eye. He was sure a chase was to be had in this area where he could stumble once and fall down the side of the mountain to his death. It was only natural that something would happen somewhere that was extremely dangerous in itself. Dream would have stumbled across this area before in his life, and he would have grown to be a natural at avoiding death in such an area. The steep slopes that George had taken short moments to observe as he tried to make his way through the biome were major red flags. He had tried to come up with safe ways to scale down the nearly parallel sides of dirt and stone, but he couldn't figure it out. The trees that jutted outwards from the sides were angled towards the sky, and their needles prevented him from throwing himself at them and using them as support to not slip on the way down. He supposed the only plausible way to get down was by using the roots that stuck out from the dirt and trying to slip a foot into the stone's imperfections. 

The lack of animals in the area also brought him to harbor some more fear. It left a sort of eerie silence that was not broken past the small crunch of the frozen ground beneath his feet. He could never hear Dream. Never once had he heard the clink of armor or the heavy footsteps that could break the tense air that surrounded him. The tension brought by being watched without knowing where he was being watched from was causing him an ever-growing uneasiness. The annoying croak of birds was something that this world did not have. No birds were chirping in the mornings, and no birds were flying away and cawing their warning screech from dangers that awaited. It added to the tense atmosphere that suffocated him. 

The towering spruce trees were starting to get to him. They were rustling and waving with anxiousness that affected George. His brain was tricked into a state of anxiety and jittery caution. He had switched to his sword a while ago, the blade sometimes falling by his side and dragging its sharpness through the ice sheet that coated the dirt. His sword was a danger to anything it would stab, an infection bound to happen with the dirt and dried blood that had coated the top half. He had his shield equipped and held tightly against his front in case a surprise attack would get through the tiny uncovered spaces in his armor. He was hyper-aware of the small noises that reached his ears. 

"George," a small taunting voice. The tiniest voice that he only picked up due to his nervously heightened sense of hearing. The voice was no more than a whisper that grazed his eardrums. The rustling of the trees seemed to grow louder. George quickly turned in the direction of the voice, stomach flipping. Nothing was there. No green cloak that would stand out against the colder toned grass of the area. No piss colored cloak that covered a pissy man. 

"Dream?" George's voice barely escaped above the tone of the one used to taunt his mind. His eyes darted around the area, pine needles, stone walls, and spruce trees being the only thing he could see. There was no white mask. There were only empty areas that Dream should have been. Dream could be anywhere, and George had no clue where he was. What was he trying to do? Toy with him? Had he only replied to his letters with lies and deceit? Had he only been playing George like a violin through all of their experiences?

"Over here, Georgie," another whisper of words carried to him by the wind. His gaze continued to run along every space, trying to spot the man. He couldn't find him, and his fear only peaked when a dark chuckle rang out in an echo. 

"Just come out," George's panicked, breathless voice picked up in volume. He wanted to be heard. "I'm sorry for making you feel like you need to distance yourself," his bottom lip trembled as he held his shield closer to himself like it was his lifeline. He got the urge to close his eyes and pretend like none of this was happening. His quick heart rate was distracting, and it made his body feel like it was pulsating. 

"Oh Georgie," a smirk was written on Dream's face, his words tainted with the evidence. Hot breath wrapped around George's neck, sending a frenzy of shivers flashing down his spine. He didn't dare twist his head in the direction that the breath had come from. Dream was right behind him, body close enough to touch him. He could easily stab through George's back, but he was toying with his prey. A soft tingle spread through George's hips as they were clasped by Dream's hands. Heat spread throughout the areas that experienced this warm touch, George's heart picking up speed ever so slightly. Another thing that ever so slightly occurred was the leaning that George did into Dream's touch. He was drawn closer to Dream, the other's face pushing against his iron-plated shoulder, mask pushing up against the nape of his neck. "Aren't you going to run?" the muffled words and breath trailed up his neck. 

"Please," George's strained voice came as nothing more than a wisp in the wind. His body was experiencing different sensations. On one end he was petrified, too scared to move, but on the other he was flustered, wanting nothing more than to stay with the touch on him. 

"Please what?" George's body sported a second wave of shivers as the soft lips that spoke rubbed against the cold skin of his neck. The words seemed oddly teasing, and George's breath was stuck in his throat, nothing more than a sharp inhale happening. "What do you want, Georgie?"

"Let me go," George's voice had a twinge of whine near the end. He was quietly begging. The grip on his hips tightened, mocking him.

"Is it because you hate me? I _infuriate_ you hm? I'm so _selfish_ for wanting to _protect you_ hm?" Dream's words dripped with venom, his grip on George growing tighter every exaggerated word that he uttered. George felt ashamed, he felt terrible. He didn't want to hurt Dream by saying those things and he didn't even mean for the letter to get into Dream's hands. He didn't want Dream to read the words he had written when he was angry and hurt. The reckoning was upon him. He didn't burn the letter like he should have and now Dream was the one who was angry and hurt. "Tell me, George," Dream began this, his mask digging deeper into the crook of George's neck. "Tell me you hate me."

"I don't hate you Dreamie," George's voice shook, impossibly soft and reassuring. His hands had begun to tremble. He would surely lose his sword if the shaking continued. "I didn't want to think about you cutting me off. It hurt and I was angry. I couldn't hate you," George wanted to turn around to look at Dream right in his mask. He wanted Dream to know he was sincere. But he was rooted to his place between the hands gripping his hips and the head stuffed in his neck. "I wrote a different letter after I calmed down. I meant for you to get that one instead."

"But the one I got has the truth, George. Either that or you didn't mean all the good things you said about me," Dream didn't lose his venom. Dream truly was manipulating George's feelings. George wanted out. He wanted to get out of Dream's hold, and he wanted to run. Dream was mad, he was raging, and George didn't want to be on the receiving end of it. 

"No, I meant all the good. I meant the bad too, but those shouldn't have reached you," George was disappointed in himself for writing the letter. The letter that got him into this mess of emotions. Fear, anger, worry, anxiety, infatuation. _Infatuation_? "Just let me give you the good one. Let me go."

"Don't run," Dream released his claws, leaving George's hips aching. George supposed he had red nail and finger marks. George turned around slowly, scared of what was going to happen. Dream hadn't backed up, which caused George to rub against the other. George didn't have the mind or heart to back away. George felt himself getting stuck in place again, but this time it was due to the petrifying gaze on his face. Dream was making eye contact with him. 

George dug through the front of his bag that contained his letters, looking for the one that contained the drawing of his blob plopping down to sit next to the loving Dream blob that still had a heart beside it. He found it and brought it out, holding the paper up between the two of them. He could feel Dream's eyes leave him and trail down to the folded piece of paper. A fingerless gloved hand rose to grab the paper, clasping it between its index and thumb with a gentle hold. It seemed that Dream still cherished their letters regardless of the tension between them at the moment. George did too. 

A sigh passed Dream's lips, and he backed away from George. George simply watched with a curious eye as the masked man placed the letter inside of the front pocket of his own bag. After placing the letter securely in the pocket, Dream's mask turned up to face George. Eye contact was not being made between the two anymore. Dream was being suspicious, but he had told George not to run. George wouldn't disrespect that wish. He stood still and watched as Dream reached for his side. He noticed too late that Dream had reached for his sword, the blade slicing his cheek as Dream swung it. A choked sound of shock and pain escaped George, and his feet moved on their own, backing away in an attempt at a last-minute dodge. The game of cat and mouse had resumed. 

"Fuck- Dream-" George held up his shield as another attack was aimed at him, a strong blow that caused him to stagger backward. The worst of it all was that Dream hadn't said a word to warn George of the incoming attack. The attack was meant to hit, and it was meant to make George bleed. "Why- ah," George's shield was again ruthlessly dug into, a chip of the wood flying off to the side. George's feet dug into the dirt, his resistance leaving a clear mark for the forest to remember the exchange by. 

"Run, Georgie," the statement was not teasing. It was deadly serious. Serious and soft. This was the Dream from the letters, and that Dream wanted him to run from him. George needed to put up a fight before he ran. He wanted to make Dream bleed too before he ran like a child from the dark hallway once they turned the light off. 

"Not until you answer why," George used the arm that held his shield, pushing upwards to force Dream back. It had worked slightly but not enough to give George a chance to strike. Dream's legs moved to the side foot by foot, circling George like the predator he was. George kept a hard gaze situated on the other, a fiery determination blazing in his brown irises. 

"Why what?" Dream's eyes seemed to harden as he met George's. George didn't know if his predictions on Dream's eye expressions were accurate, but he rolled with what he thought. 

"You know damn well," George didn't want to rely on his shield. He wanted to dodge easier and to be able to attack without his shield slowing his movements. Dream looked so free without a shield, but Dream didn't need the extra protection. George would be content to get a single hit on Dream, especially if it were to draw blood. His stinging cheek reminded him of that want. "Why are you attacking me?"

"Oh, _Georgie_ ," a smirk. "You seem to have forgotten the contents of your letter."

"No, I don't think I have," George grunted as Dream made contact with his shield once again. There was no way Dream was trying his hardest to hurt George. "I said that I wanted you-" George was hit again, stopping his flow of words with a staggering blow. He quickly recovered, sidestepping the next attack. "to exit with me-" another. "and not cut ties with me-" a merciless kick to his shield that pushed him back even more. He was going to be pushed off of the ledge of the mountain at this rate. "and I asked you to listen to me."

"Avoiding all the bad things, are we?" Dream seemed to take notice of the ledge that was coming up on George's back. What was peculiar about this was the way Dream changed the angle of his attacks. He had run to the side and started to steer George away from the ensured death. Dream wasn't going to kill George here. 

"You're only focusing on the bad things," George used his sword to block Dream's next attack, the blades clashing in a deathly loud sound that echoed through the forest. He gritted his teeth as Dream looked only with a smug smirk angled down towards George. George pushed off of Dream's sword and attempted to get a small slash in but he was countered and his hand was given a sharp pain as his wrist took the blow's force of opposite pressure. A small hiss at the sudden pain escaped him. He was being too vocal about his state of physical wellness. George blocked another attack with his shield and had expected Dream to get impatient at this point. He hadn't been able to get a clean hit on George and he didn't seem like the kind of person that had the skill of great patience. What George wasn't expecting was the way Dream's mouth quirked in amusement. Shit.

"I'm hurt, Georgie, didn't you realize?" the smile that Dream had twitched at the corner. It was a twitch that would have sent his mouth curving downward. Dream tilted his head in a way that unsettled George. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you," George tried to argue, but Dream only _tsk_ ed, his smile fully disappearing. 

"Don't you get it, _George_ ," Dream's voice was like a wolf snarling when another had entered their territory as he brought his sword down upon George's shield. This hit had been different. This hit held anger, an anger that caused George's balance to falter. "Those words were your _true_ feelings," Dream pushed his sword, successfully sending George crashing to the ground. His shield smashed into his nose when his back reached the frozen ground, which was significantly harder than regular dirt, pain shooting through it at the collision. As George struggled to get his breathing in check, he managed a panicked look towards the smiley mask that never looked more terrifying than in that moment. The man towering over him only stared in contempt. George realized something at that moment once met with such a scornful look. Dream was no longer playing with George in a harmful mind game. Dream was deadly now, and he was running high on emotions. Emotions George inflicted upon him. 

"I get that Dream, but I also said that you have such a nice personality that I hate it. I only want you to be by my side and on my side," George's words were confident but fast-paced. He was trying to get all the words he can in before the other man lunged at him once again. Dream was standing ominously still in front of the light, shadows cast over him like a blanket of darkness. "Me writing that in the first place was because I wanted to slap some sense into you and get you to listen to me for once. I still think you make stupid excuses that don't have any basis, and your constant need to push me away is selfish."

_You_ told me that I wasn't _selfish_ for _feeling_ ," Dream's voice almost sounded like it was wavering, his sword swinging to the side in his need to emphasize his words. "What's different about me feeling the need to protect you and feeling _scared_ because of that?" Dream was desperate for an answer, and it broke George's heart. 

"The difference is that I can defend myself. I'm not completely defenseless, Dream," George narrowed his eyes at Dream, catching the man's mouth open to start his protest. George didn't allow him to get a word in. "You feeling scared is valid, but there are two of us. You aren't seeing me as an equal. You're seeing me as something that needs to be protected and cradled like a baby. There are two opinions to take into consideration, not just your own!"

"I hear your opinions, George! I hear them, but I know what the Ender Dragon is like! She has more control over me than you realize!" Dream's voice was booming in the area, the echo enhancing his frenzy of words. 

"Then stop letting her have that control!" George still didn't understand. Why was Dream letting her use him as a puppet? Dream was surely strong enough to take her down, so why didn't he?

"It isn't that _simple_ ," Dream was exasperated by the conversation, George could hear it in his voice. George still wanted answers. _Direct_ answers. 

"Why _not_?" George also showed his exasperation so that Dream had no excuses to weasel his way out of the conversation. 

"It just _isn't_ ," Dream's body language showed George to take caution, but he was stubborn, and he wasn't going to let up until he was given direct answers. 

"Give me a _direct_ answer," George glared at the male, pushing himself up into a sitting position by his elbows. He had gotten control over his breathing but not his heartbeat. He was still full of fear. 

"I can't," Dream's features darkened as though he'd pushed every emotion off of them. He started to creep towards George, who frantically pushed himself backward by his feet and elbows. His breathing was once again becoming erratic. That would be a problem when he needed to run. Dream was faster than he could be with his position on the ground. The frosty grass pricked at his forearms, biting at them with a coldness that numbed. 

"Dream," George got out breathily, panic taking over his features for Dream to withhold. 

"I told you to _run_ ," in one fell swoop, Dream was kneeling by George's side, sword prepared to do damage. George tried to use his shield, but his movements weren't fast enough, and Dream's sword had snuggly made itself at home in his right arm. The arm that he needed for his shield. George made it clear that he was in pain, always having been a vocal person. His pain-filled screech brought Dream's heart to drop into his stomach. Dream pushed past it, twisting his sword in the semi-deep cut. "Georgie."

George couldn't do much past his writhing pain. "St-" his whine only extended in length when Dream moved the sword again. "-op, Dream pl-ease," tears had sprung to George's eyes. It would have been one thing if Dream had only stabbed him, but Dream had twisted the sword. 

"Get me off of you," Dream's mask rose near his nose, a sign that it had crinkled beneath his mask. Dream didn't seem to be enjoying this. Dream sounded pained too. Maybe he was.

"I can't. It hurts," George choked out, seething at the pain. Dream had yet to remove the blade despite pleading for George to get out of the situation. 

"Kick me," Dream advised, that pleading tone still hanging heavy in his words. George did as advised, reeling his leg back and giving one vigorous kick to Dream's midsection. The man flew backward, taking his sword with him and out of George's arm. George panted, struggling to breathe as he rose and put his shield away in his bag. He needed to run as fast as he could.

George did just that, letting his legs move in vehement strides. As vehement as they could get with his stature. He kept his sword in his hand, holding onto it for dear life. His right arm gushed with crimson, and his cheek was barely any better. Dream hadn't held back once he had shed blood. He could have left smaller gashes, but he had chosen to make them chasmic. The pain with running was immeasurable only due to the cut his arm had to bear. Any small movements caused the cut to smart in protest. He needed to wrap his arm in something, but he had nothing to wrap it with. If he ate would the gashes cease to exist? Would they heal completely as they had with Dream in the ravine? 

He couldn't eat, though. He had no time to pull anything out of his bag. His ears could pick up the fast crunch the ground made under both his own feet as well as Dream's. Dream was chasing him through the forest just like his first day. 

"Leave me alone, Dream," George yelled, pushing himself to run just a little faster. Maybe he could create distance by doing something crazy. If he were to throw himself down the side of the mountain, he might be able to traverse the area faster than Dream. He couldn't be sure. The taller male was just as agile as himself. Would it be worth it? He didn't know if he could run all day with the numbing pain pulsing in his arm and face. His nose was dripping blood as well from the shield slamming into it. 

George got no response from Dream, not even a sinister laugh. He didn't know if he would have preferred a response. It wasn't like Dream would say anything other than no. 'Oh yes, of course, I'll stop chasing you just because you told me to.' 

In the distance, George could hear some kind of stream. Something that seemed like it would be loud up close. He decided to go towards the water source. It could have been a waterfall, a similar-sounding crashing of water against stone as such. He sharply turned himself towards the noise, hoping Dream wouldn't have expected it and would get shaken off of his tail slightly. He focused his ears on the distant noise, hoping he could pinpoint the location. He couldn't determine whether Dream knew what he was doing or what he was running towards. Dream would have most likely entered an area similar to this one on previous hunts and would know what the source of running water was. What would George do once he got to the source? It was hard to intuit what he was doing or what his strategy would be. 

Upon entering the area, he would try to use the water to his advantage. If he were to jump into the rushing water, he couldn't be sure that he would live past the sweeping liquid. If it came down to it, he would rather jump into the water than facing Dream's angry wrath. He couldn't be sure that Dream would allow him to jump into the water. If Dream assuredly cared for him, he wouldn't allow him to dive into the water. It was difficult to discern a plan of action without first having seen the area. He still didn't know what the body of running water was. It might be impossible for him to plunge into, or it might be too dangerous to consider. If anything, he would let Dream do the honor of ending his life before jumping into anything that would do it in his place. 

In true George nature, he was stuck in his head to create the plan and didn't notice the ledge that had snuck up on him. Dream noticed the ledge and looked on with a disappointed gaze. George's foot missed the last bit of land and slipped down the side of the almost parallel mountain. He was sent sliding through the slick iced over dirt and occasional stone, straining to avoid obstacles that could injure him. He narrowly averted spruce tree limbs and sharp rocks that protruded from the side of the mountain. His heart pounded out of his chest, hammering with such extremity that he could no longer hear the rushing water over his thundering heart. He was blissfully unaware of Dream's position until he saw the male above him, rushing through the air. His shock rivaled no other as he took in the other man. Dream held a bucket steadfast in his hands, and George could only wonder how the hell that was going to save him from dying once his body hit the jagged stones below. His internal panic only grew at the fact that not only was his life in danger, but Dream's was as well. He didn't vocalize this concern as he watched with wonder. Dream's smile had returned to his lips, a devious curve of pure bliss. George took a glance at his own issue, scrambling to dodge a tree root that could have hooked his leg and caused a broken bone. His amazement only returned once his eyes settled upon Dream and took in the skill the man held as he threw the water from the bucket beneath his feet and, with a wonderous splash raining down as his feet struck the water, he was miraculously at the bottom standing strong. 

Now was the time to panic. George had thought that this would shake Dream, but the adept man merely gained a lead with a beatific smile. He was insane. His talent was insane. It was captivating. Dream was captivating. 

George's surprise turned into an exhilarated smile. To see Dream do these outrageous tricks that George wouldn't have guessed no matter how familiarized with Dream he was was elating. For a second, he lost his fear in the enthralled emotion, and a laugh of disbelief escaped him. Dream looked up at him, the smile still found from his previous adventure through the air. Dream had gotten lost in the moment too, almost slipping with a laugh of his own before he retracted his emotions and replaced his smile with a thin, neutral line. But George had kept his. 

George's foot caught on a rock, flinging his body forward towards Dream. There was no way he wouldn't be injured if he were to hit the rugged stones directly. Luckily for him, he slammed into Dream. Unluckily for him, Dream was back in his hardened, emotionless state. Regardless of the way George's arms naturally curled around Dream's neck to secure himself, Dream ruthlessly spun with George in his arms, slamming George to the nearly flat stone beneath them.

-

Disheveled hair, rosy cheeks, mouth slightly open, eyes scrunched, panting. George looked gorgeous beneath him. The way they were situated had been roughly executed and most likely knocked the breath out of the smaller male. Dream couldn't stop staring, but he knew that he had to kick himself into gear. He needed to terrify George. He needed to get him to despise the very thought of him. This was his goal. He was also mad, and he wanted George to rethink his decision to write such barbarous things about him. He shouldn't have been so mad, he knew. What George had written wasn't far from the truth, nor was it that mean. But he needed another reason to motivate himself to induce fear within George. He wouldn't have gone through with it if not for this small push down the intimidation path. 

It wasn't only because George had written that stuff about him, he'd seen all the good of the letter too. He knew that George meant well and that George had complimented him a handful of times in the letter. What got to him was that the letters were his safe space. The letters were a haven where he didn't have to think about himself as a person. He only needed to answer a small number of George's questions until pleasant conversation came along. They had started to get into pleasant conversations. Favorite colors, other questions that would arise and make pleasant topics to address. Playful flirting that made George flush that beautiful pink that was a stark contrast to his porcelain skin. But George had grabbed his letter and twisted his words. George had only looked at the bad things in his letter and completely disregarded everything pleasant. George had pointed out his flaws, which he only allowed to show in the letters. Dream had opened his mind to George, and instead of reassurance, he got panicked anger directed at him and his insecurities. 

He had reason to be upset. He had reason to have angrily teared up at the words that nipped at him hatefully. He had reason to be discouraged from messaging George back.

Seeing George here under him, lost for breath and gazing up at him with an unexpectedly beguiled expression, it made him excited. It made his heart pound and his head spin. Why did George make him feel like this? 

Why did he have to make George's expression turn to one of fear?

Couldn't he just embrace George and see him equally? 

George was right. He should look at George as an equal, someone who could protect himself. He could protect himself from everything but Dream. Dream and the dragon. So he should be seen as an equal. He earned that much respect. 

So why couldn't Dream trust him enough to be his partner?

"George," those alluring eyes flitted to his own as his whisper escaped. Dream wished he could make direct eye contact with those deep brown beauties. George's mouth closed, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He licked his lips and looked as though he was going to say something before his mouth settled into something of a pout. Perhaps he felt vulnerable under Dream. Perhaps the emotion was something else entirely. "When I get up, run. Don't fall in the water. I'm no longer going easy on you."

Dream saw the obvious confusion on George's face, but he knew George wouldn't speak about it. George wouldn't want to give this chance up. Dream knew that. He knew it because he wouldn't want to give that chance up either if roles were reversed. So Dream gingerly got up and stepped back from the brunette, quite regrettably. Oh, how he'd wanted to keep staring at that expression splayed over George's features. He watched as George scooted backward before pushing himself up and running. He was still bleeding out of his arm. Dream might've gone a little overboard with the twisting. He wanted to be scary. 

The area that they were in was shrouded in trees, but past the trees, you can see humongous boulders sitting at odd angles, some sticking out of the water that rushed in white swirls. White water rapids. The water rushed and flowed over the stones and was made dangerous by this. Anyone swept away into the water would likely get hurt by the perilousness it held and the sharp rocks that littered the entire area. Fallen trees were lying across the rocks in some areas, and some even obtruded on the rare still water's surface. 

George was currently using his agility to his advantage, slinking over the rocks to try to get to the other side. Dream wouldn't let him get to the other side. Being skilled in parkour and having practiced agility made the chase that much easier. George had no chance if Dream were to actually try killing him. But that made it all the more fun. Dream was never planning to kill George, and in the case of death seeming imminent for George, he would step in no matter the cost. Dream wouldn't deny the thrill he gained from hunting. It was an undeniable pleasure for him. What he would deny would be that he was being too harsh on George. He wasn't being harsh enough. George would never find it believable that Dream actually desired to kill him. Between the tension that was both uncomfortable and strangely another thing, it was impossible to see Dream as someone who had a real want to kill him. George would be able to tell the difference between the Dream that had chased him on the first day he was here and the Dream now. The Dream that had chased him on the first day wanted to get another kill under his belt. He had planned on it, but as soon as he had caught George and seen how much he wanted to live, he gave up that thought. Then they got to know each other, and Dream had no desire whatsoever to end the man's life. 

Dream was ready to chase him. He was ready to pin George down again, although he knew the resulting face wouldn't be the one he had seen before. The resulting face would be terror. He didn't know if he was ready for that part. 

Dream sighed as he pulled his sword from its sheath. He examined his weapon that had been tainted with a bloody tip. Tainted even more so by the thought of it being George's blood on the blade. From the pain that he inflicted. He didn't want to hear that pained scream again. He didn't want to hear George begging for the pain to stop again. He didn't want these sounds to reach his ears at all. But he had to. It was for George. A little pain was something that George could get past. He's strong, and he's stubborn. It didn't matter that his relationship with George will be jeopardized. He was doing it for George.

Dream returned his sword to its sheath in preparation for the parkour that would ensue. Dream closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he pushed off the ground, sprinting towards his first jump. He propelled himself off of the ground, cautiously watching where his feet landed as to prevent an accident. He wasn't nearly as cautious as George, who was going slow yet was still struggling to keep himself from misstepping. That made his job of reaching the other painfully easy. It wasn't George's fault. The other had been in this situation and was used to the jumping. Needless to say, Dream was able to reach George in little to no time. The water around them thundered enough to keep Dream's clinking armor from being picked up by the brunette's ears. That was another factor making his job easier. 

Dream's eyes stayed trained on George, awaiting the perfect moment to pull his bunny into his arms once again. His eyes twitched every time George was close to falling. He was itching to relieve the man of his worry and stand on the rocks ahead with his hand extended to help him cross the river safely. He was instead waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on his prey and sink his sword into the plush skin which he wanted nothing more than to hold close to his. It was unfair. The entire situation was unfair. Why him and George?

Dwelling on that did him no good. All he needed to do was focus on assisting George's win from the shadows. Even in the shadows to George himself. 

He readied his body to lunge at his prey, tugging his lip between his teeth in anticipation. The annoying crash of the water against the rocks was distracting. To hold George in his arms for the last time, was a momentous occasion. He wanted to savor that touch. 

Finally, George had jumped onto a secure boulder. But something didn't go according to plan. George glanced over his shoulder and started to rush, trying his hardest to escape the clutches of his one and only wolf. There was no escape, no matter how fast he scrambled. He was too scared to jump to the next boulder, too hesitant to leap. Dream predicted this and gave George no time to go through past his hesitation. Reminiscent of a checker's piece overtaking two of the opponent's pieces in one move, Dream hopped to one rock and instantly pushed off of that one towards George. He flew through the air majestically, body arched to tackle the other. George took notice of this and covered the back of his head with his hands. Intelligent, as George was. Too bad his sword was in his left hand, which could end up injuring him. This sword luckily ended up escaping his grip upon Dream's body bashing into George's. 

Dream's arms wrapped around George's back, holding him close as they sped to the ground. They tumbled along the boulder, coming close to the edge before they halted to a rough stop. Dream's mask pushed against George's chest plate, no harm coming to either of them as they made contact with the solid stone. A pained whimper exited George's mouth nonetheless. Dream hated it. 

Dream sat up, unintentionally straddling George. Neither of them could notice as Dream was quick to unsheathe his sword and went to work on his act. He smirked down at George, holding his sword high above his head as though he would bring it down through George's skull. He, of course, did not execute this move, instead of bringing the sword down to meet the stone beside George's ear. George's face contorted at the noise and the shock that ran through his bones. It slowly morphed into one of indubitable fright. George was now looking up at Dream as though he were one of the monsters that crept through the darkness of caves or night. He couldn't move. He was petrified. 

"Fear is interesting, Georgie," Dream began in an innocent voice. He knew what he was doing. Of course, he did. It hurt. George looked like he might cry. That was something Dream wouldn't be able to handle. "It harbors the belief that something is dangerous. Do you think I'm dangerous?" he ground his sword beside George's ear, earning a flinch in the opposite direction. 

"Y-es," George croaked, straining to get the word out of his throat. It had been caught. 

"Good," Dream faked a sinister smile, one that he knew would earn a tingle down George's spine. He had had enough practice on that smile to know how effective it was when gauging the response to it. George's bottom lip trembled. "You know how much bad I can do to you now hm?" his response was a nod. "Ah ah, answer out loud, Georgie."

"Yes," George's voice trembled just as his lip had. This was vulnerability. Vulnerability and unadulterated fear. 

"Mhm. Now, will you underestimate my ability to hurt you?" for good measure, Dream dug his sword into the underside of the forearm that was closest to him. Unfortunately for George, this was his dominant arm. His sword arm. Dream felt guilty as soon as his sword met George's soft skin that had been free of scars or cuts. Dream was causing him so much pain. Dream was worthless. A monster. He could feel his own lip tremble at the sight of George's mouth opening to release a yelp that fizzled into a constant whimper as long as the sword stayed in place. 

"I won't, I won't, please, Dream stop!" George had started to cry, and his words were more of sobs than any discernable word. But Dream understood every word, and he retracted his sword as soon as the words started to exit George's mouth. His heart squeezed in his chest, a tormenting pain gripping at his chest. He couldn't breathe without the regret causing his pounding heart to ache even more. The tears that ran down George's cheeks were pooling at the sides of his head, painting the boulder a deeper grey. Dream had started to cry too. He couldn't stop the tears that streamed from his eyes uncontrollably. What had he done? Dream discarded his swords, opting instead to cup George's cheeks within his hands. George cracked his eyes and let out a wracking sob. Dream snapped, his heart bursting into a million pieces he wasn't sure could be mended. "It _hurts_. Dream, _please_." George was choking on his own words, tears an ever-growing collection of all the pain Dream had made him experience. Dream couldn't help his own whimper from escaping like a dog being scolded for something completely reasonable that he couldn't understand as wrong. He removed himself from George and pulled the hiccupping, broken boy up into his lap. He only broke more as George curled into him, gripping at his cloak with hands that sought comfort. What had Dream done?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, George, I'm so sorry," his voice was as bad as George's, a jumble of words that no longer sounded like real words. He rocked them back and forth, petting at what hair he could reach past George's helmet. He didn't understand himself. He'd thought so clearly before. He had thought that what he was doing for the best. Why? Why had he ever tricked himself into thinking that this was for the best? This could never have been for the best. George was in so much pain, and they were both sobbing into each other. Such different reasons intertwined like some sick game. Dream had dreamed of crying with George cradled in his arms. This was not his dream. This was more of a nightmare. Dream deserved to be in George's presence no longer. He deserved nothing more than to feel the same pain that he had put George through. "Please stay away from me now, Georgie. I'm such a monster. I'm selfish. I'm horrible. You didn't deserve this. I'm so sorry. I thought it was the right thing to do."

"You didn't fucking _listen_ to me," George sobbed harder, gripping Dream impossibly tighter. "I told you. I told you not to distance yourself. I told you to be my partner. _Why_?" he coughed out his words, crying out the unfair truths that Dream ignored. 

"I don't know, I'm sorry," Dream attempted to swipe George's tears away, but George had flinched away from his touch. He had flinched away. Dream had accomplished his task. He had never felt so empty. Never so full of regret. He needed to leave.

"I _hate_ you," George uttered the phrase that shattered Dream right down to his core. He sobbed harder than he had ever sobbed in his lifetime. He could do nothing but sob as George repeated the phrase over and over, holding the brunette tightly in his arms as he would disappear. Selfish self-indulgence just this once. A decision that would make him happy. To never step foot near George again. He couldn't trust himself, and George sure as hell couldn't trust him. 

After they both finished crying, George had pushed him away, glaring at him as he deserved. He deserved it. He deserved the weight that grasped at his heart and slithered its way into his mind. His heart didn't feel like it should be beating. Having a heartbeat felt so abnormal. 

"Take my sword George," he outstretched the sword with a weak arm. The brunette refused.

"I won't be your charity case."

"Kill me, George," Dream steeled himself, looking up at George with the most desperation he ever had. George's eyes widened, and his gaze softened. The mask disrupted the heavy plea in Dream's face.

"Put the sword down, Dream. I'm not killing you, and I won't hurt you either. I'd never do that to someone I cared about," George looked to the ground bitterly, aching arms crossed. He was hugging himself. Dream's jaw clenched. George no longer cared about him. Dream was to blame. Dream was the only one to blame. Not George, not the Ender Dragon, not the monsters, not his the previous people he's hunted. Only Dream.

"I messed it all up. I didn't need to do that. I didn't want to. I thought it was a necessary evil for the better of you. Eliminate myself from the narrative. Make you scared of me so that you wouldn't be in the danger that comes with me. I'm sorry. I was selfish once again. You were always right, and I wasn't listening," Dream huffed a pained laugh one would expect from someone that was in denial. His hands ran through his hair, tugging at the strands.

"I don't forgive you, but I don't want you out of the narrative. But if you haven't learned, then it might be for the better. You're such a dick," George puffed a breath of air from his nose. He turned his back on Dream, picking up his neglected sword and pushing it back into its sheath. "Goodbye, Dream." 

Dream didn't say it back. No matter how much he had wanted it to be before, that was no longer his desire. All he wanted was to make this up to George and to eventually end up at his side. He would need to earn that spot he so undisputedly was not worthy of. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hAHA WAIT  
> Not me accidentally predicting the opposite future LOL "Tell me you hate me."   
> This was written September 30th of 2020,,


	8. eigh t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Stop thinking about him_... George's mind scolded him. He just needed to focus for now. He just needed to get the both of them out. This was George's responsibility. This was all George could do now that Dream wasn't in the picture. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished chapter thirteen and I wanted to post another here because I love the support a little too much <3

George's heart ached along with his arms. He hadn't eaten yet. He had no appetite. His heartache took away from any aching that his stomach could bring. He was numbly walking away from that spot. The spot that Dream had terrified him. Yet he couldn't hate the other. He didn't hate Dream. He wanted to laugh at himself. He wanted to point and prod and make himself feel ashamed for not feeling the emotion that a normal person would feel in this situation. Dream had looked at him with malice. He had wanted to harm him. But at the same time, Dream had not wanted to harm him. Dream had flinched away as soon as George's tears spilled over. Before George had even begun to cry, Dream's bottom lip had trembled. It was something George just barely caught through his pained scream. Thinking back to Dream's reaction made his stomach turn in disgust but also something else. Something he didn't know how to name. 

He had told a lie to Dream. He had told a lie multiple times. He had told Dream he hated him. He had told Dream that he hated him despite telling him he could never hate him mere minutes before. 

A gasp pushed its way from George's throat as he made a realization that hurt. Dream had grabbed him by his hips and pulled him to his chest before they had started fighting amongst the huge boulders that caused George to get close to falling more than once. He had done that for another reason, besides keeping George in place. Dream had done it as a last-minute decision. He had wanted to hold George once more before he caused him physical pain. But it hadn't been his last time because he couldn't stop himself from holding George again. He held George close and sobbed because he thought that George was gone after what he had done. He told George to kill him. He hated himself. He hated himself, and George telling him that he hated him too couldn't have helped in any way. 

_Stop thinking about him_... George's mind scolded him. He just needed to focus for now. He just needed to get the both of them out. This was George's responsibility. This was all George could do now that Dream wasn't in the picture. 

-

His lip trembled. His chin trembled. His chest heaved. His shoulders shook. His abdomen was full of pain. His heart ached. He felt cold. It had been a while since George left him in this spot he thought was beautiful the first time he'd seen it. He no longer saw the beauty. All that was left was an ugly feeling that stabbed him in the heart and twisted as he had done to George's arms. If the world wasn't like it was, George's arms would be mangled and unable to heal as quickly. But food was a simple fix, a small bite, and you could heal a small cut at least. He desperately hoped that George had enough food to completely heal himself. 

Dream couldn't will himself to stand. He could barely breathe, his chest too tight and throat too raw. It hurt. His crying hadn't ceased for a single second after George left. He wasn't used to the awkward trail of warmth that the tears left behind and the even more awkward accumulation of tears at the bottom of his mask. More than once, he had taken a sharp inhale of hot air and tears, shooting a burning sensation through his nose. The nose that was now continuously running. 

He wanted to know what George was doing now. He wanted to know if George was eating. If George didn't eat, he could be in potential trouble. George had the habit of becoming stuck in his head and getting himself in terrible accidents. The ravine, the multiple times he'd been caught by surprise because of his thoughts. The concern stemmed past the everlasting droplets that leaked from his eyes that were beyond faucets. Was George okay? Had George stopped bleeding yet? Surely he had. Surely he held his life higher than letting himself deteriorate by the gashes that could so easily heal. Surely George was pushing on. He was stubborn. It didn't make sense that the same male that had stood after being tormented, _betrayed_ by both sides of Dream and walked away without righting the wrongs done to him would let his life end by something else. George was strong. Dream urged himself to see that, to realize that he was dealing with someone much stronger than himself. George had steeled his nerves and stopped the tears that were flowing from his fearful eyes. George had walked away with no anger or malice directed at Dream. All he had in his voice was sadness and irritation. Irritation at Dream's behavior. George was so _strong_. Dream admired him even more.

Funny how he was supposed to scare George away and instead made a fool of himself. He had been a fool and a dick to even consider doing what he did. He really was something to butcher his plan and cry like a child afterward. Despite all of it, he came out with the desire to be by George's side. Why hadn't it been as simple before? He fucks his trust with George only to want to be by his side. 

Could he have courage? For once could he push himself to stand against the beast blocking their exit? 

He needed to get a note to George.

-

The days passed by with little happening. George had found a cave and spent the night but he could not sleep. He tossed and turned in his nook in the wall. Nothing could reach him yet he couldn't will his eyes closed. That was all he had done besides travel. He was currently walking through a savannah. 

George was always unsettled. He didn't have Dream chasing him anymore. No little instances of surprise attacks. No back and forth letters. No stabs. No twists. No falls. No smiles. No laughs. No physical contact. No _Dream_.

It was stale without Dream. It was boring, bleak. All George wanted was Dream to at least write him something. He didn't care if he was being stared at. He didn't care if he grew uncomfortable under Dream's gaze. He didn't care because it would mean that Dream was still around, still with him in some way. Dream could be far away from him, that was fine, but if he wasn't getting any contact with the other, it just felt like needles were sticking into George's heart every time it pumped. He wanted to know if Dream was okay. If Dream chased him again, that would be fine. Anything but this. Anything but the absence of Dream. 

There wasn't just the problem of not knowing where Dream was. George had a large predicament on his hands. He was lost, unaware of what he was supposed to do next. Something with a portal, but he had no idea what to do. How did he make it? What was the procedure to go through it? It wasn't like he had a manual. All he had was Dream, and he didn't know how to get into contact with him. Then afterward, he didn't know what to do on the other side of the portal. All he knew was that blazes were on the other side of the portal. He didn't really know the name of the dimension or what else was in there. He only knew that he would need to find some kind of fortress. It had been a while since Dream had told him about it. He couldn't remember what Dream told him. 

For now, George wanted to try something important. He wanted to try writing another letter. He needed to make sure that he pushed all the spite he might have felt for Dream to the side while writing the letter. He learned his lesson; letting his anger fuel his words was a terrible idea. He felt the weight of his words once he saw the contorted mouth of the person they attacked. Dream had been hurt by his words, and he didn't want that happening again. 

George threw a crafting table down, placing a piece of paper down on top of it. He pulled his ink-stained feather out of his bag, with it a sack of ink. He took a deep breath, carefully twirling the feather between his forefinger and thumb. He gingerly dipped the feather's tip into the ink, watching the ink drip from it once it had departed from the sack. The pool of ink left in the sack rippled as the small droplets returned home. George wished he could return home. He felt sick of this place. The only thing he wished to keep was not a thing but a person. A mysterious person. Maybe Dream would start to unfurl the walls around his heart and mind. Maybe George would get to peek inside. 

George returned his thoughts to the task at hand. Writing. He eyed the pristine paper, not envious of the wreckage that was about to be brought upon it. George would mess it's pristine look up—he would taint it with it's opposite. 

He held the feather at an angle as not to drip in a random spot on the paper. He might as well make it look presentable. He would scar the paper less by writing neat and avoiding random splotches of ink. He slowly, casually brought his wrist down so the feather could reach the paper. Just as the feather hovered above George's starting line, a fast flurry of white forced its way over his piece of paper. He stopped his movement too late, the tip of the feather coming into contact with another spot of black. He was tainting his own name. His name written in that handwriting that had aged from a kindergartener's writing to a teacher's. How had it made so much progress? 

His breath caught in his throat. Dream. It was Dream.

_Dream_.

His gaze tore away from the paper, fingers carelessly releasing the soft feather between them. He shot up from his spot, eyes searching wildly before landing on the man he wished to see. He wanted to see that Dream was okay with his own eyes. His eyes caught the cloak fluttering in the breeze as the man vanished behind a tree. He strained to get another glimpse of the masked man, craning his neck to try. His throat felt cluttered and raw. He tried to yell out for the other, trying to stop him so that they could talk if only to exchange a smile. "Dream..." his voice came out raspy as though he went through great effort to get the word out. It was no use. His voice came no louder than a whisper. Dream was gone again just like that. All he had was the words written on the paper in front of him. That was enough.

George flicked his gaze back to the paper, seizing it into his itching hands. His eyes took every word in greedily, wishing Dream had written more.

_**Georgie,** _

_**Sorry is never going to cut it for what I did, but I still wanted to say it. I'm sorry for what I did, George. I truly thought it would be better if we both stuck to our assigned roles. I'm still trying to convince myself that I can go against her. I'll do it George, I promise. For you.** _

_**I think it's obvious that I won't be chasing you anymore. I'm staying around. I just haven't been able to follow well until now. I couldn't bear to look at you because you never look happy anymore. I love your smile. Cheer up so I can see it more?** _

_**What you need to do next is simple for me, but I doubt it will be as smooth for you. Normally a person would get diamonds and make a pickaxe, so they can take their time breaking obsidian to make the portal. That's not what I do. To do it fast, you can take a water bucket and use that water to make the portal with lava. You need to find a lava pool, okay? I'll explain it fully in another letter.** _

_**I'm going to try to protect you, George. This time I'm going to try to listen to you. I'm going to protect you from other things, not myself this time. I don't know why you have so much faith in me. I don't know why you didn't just kill me. Thank you for giving me another chance George. I won't blow it.** _

_**-Dreamie ♡** _

George wanted to cheer. He felt warm again. Dream must have forgotten about the actual letter he returned before Dream attacked him. That was fine. They weren't really on those same terms anymore. He still wanted Dream to read it, though. 

A sorry really wouldn't make George feel any better about what happened. A sorry wasn't enough to mend Dream's betrayal of trust. George knew that Dream had done it for a reason. One he wouldn't like to think about ever again. To distance himself. To make George hate him. Dream had been cruel. 

Dream now made a promise, one that he would be kept tied to. If he didn't stick to it, George would be the one to let go of the rope that held their relationship above a ravine similar to the one he had fallen into. Deeper, lethal. Their relationship would be destroyed if Dream didn't go against the dragon and stay on George's side. This was Dream's last chance to keep their relationship suspended until they could build a sound structure beneath it. Together. A relationship required two participants to put their hearts into it. 

_For you_. The words did warm his heart, regrettably. It was so easy for Dream to slink his way back into George's heart. George would have to be strong to resist such temptations. Such intense temptations regarding his puny protective walls. It wasn't fair how different the strength of Dream's walls was to his. George wasn't normally so easy to affect, was he? 

George's heart ached at the next paragraph. Dream couldn't bear to look at what he'd caused. George would smile for him the next time they were face to face. He would flash the biggest smile he could muster. It would be a genuinely joyful smile. He would make sure of it. Dream wanted to see him happy, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to give Dream that. If he could see that gentle smile of Dream's again, the one that looked as though he adored George, he would be ecstatic. 

Dream must have read his mind, answering the questions he was going to ask before he even wrote the letter to ask them. He now had a little more knowledge of the portal he would need to create. So, a water bucket. That was something that he did not own yet, but he did know that Dream owned one from his little stunt. The science behind the water bucket was confusing. First of all, he didn't know how a person could throw the water down against the ground and have enough to land in it without getting hurt at all. Secondly, how did the bucket not spill inside of the bag? Magic probably. 

He needed a bucket, he needed to get water into the bucket, and he needed to find a lava pool. He would be sure to be on the lookout. 

The last paragraph was sweet. It was the assurance that things would be different this time. Dream had evidently learned his lesson and was ready to right his wrongs. George would put faith in Dream. He never knew why, and he still doesn't know. All George knew was that he would make sure to be cautious. It was difficult to be cautious when Dream says he doesn't know why he didn't kill him. He hoped Dream didn't do anything harmful in the time that he was straggling behind. Dream was strong. He would be fine.

Dream signed the letter with a drawing like they started to do. It wouldn't follow the blobs that George drew on his last letter, sadly. This one was a depressing sight. The contents weren't as depressing as the linework. The drawing was of Dream's blob nuzzling it's face into the back of George's blob. The lines used to draw the scene were shaky, wavering with the untold sadness and betrayal that had happened between the two subjects. Dream had lost his confidence in creating the drawing of the blobs. He was so worried about what George would think when he saw the drawing. George did nothing but smile sadly at it, running his finger along the ink. A part of the paper felt awkward, wilted. He inspected the drawing closer and noticed an area where the ink of his blob was smeared out as though water had come into contact with it. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight, lips tugging down at the realization that Dream had cried when he was drawing it. His heart ached at the thought.

-

In the passing days, George had received a few more letters. One revealed that Dream had been watching him read the letter he gave him. It told George that Dream was sorry for his blob drawing as though George didn't like it. Maybe Dream hadn't observed George's sad smile before his lips pulled down to form a frown. Dream also told him he was glad to see George smile in that same letter. It was confusing whether Dream had seen his smile or miscalculated the time between his smile and the time it took to read the letter. Unless George had smiled another time and forgotten about it, it would make sense he had a warm fuzzy feeling when reading certain spots. Dream had also given him a letter that explained the exact details and explained steps to make the portal. Dream had even spared small drawings of the steps to make it more clear, as well as the end product.

George himself had returned a single letter to the other male. He told Dream that it was okay and that as long as he was trying. He appreciated it. He also made sure to make it clear that he would always like the drawings and that Dream should draw them more. This caused Dream to give him a whole page filled with small drawings of their blobs doing random things. It wasn't only their blobs together; there were singles of each of them. One had George's blob with a bow tie and tiny sparkles surrounding him. Dream wrote to the side that he couldn't draw, so that was all George was getting. All of them had more confident lines, and there was a surprising lack of mistakes. All of the drawings made him happy, and Dream got a kick out of his smile that day. 

George had made considerable progress in the time between each letter. By that, he means that he had been running around the surface in search of a lava pool. He had made his way through many biomes, and not once had he seen a pool of lava or heard the pop he expected it to call out to him with. He had come across more animals and collected more food, barely thinking about the slaughter as he thought of other things during it. He was used to killing the animals by now. It helped that they merely fizzled away in a cloud of smoke with their meat left behind. 

He no longer had trouble sleeping after a terrifying night dealing with something called a phantom. He had been trying less and less to sleep, but when he was outside trying to continue looking for a lava pool through the night when there was a higher chance to see the light, he noticed something flying in the air. He didn't know what the thing was, but it made a scary noise that George didn't care to hear anymore. The situation escalated when the phantom swooped down from the sky and dove straight for George. George didn't know what to do in the situation, so he took off running with a petrified screech. The scream could be comparable to when you are looking at a bug, and the bug suddenly jumps or flies at you with no warning. It was a scream of pure fear. This, of course, alerted his masked guardian, who ran out of the shadows to save the day. He didn't get close, shooting at the phantom with a bow from afar. As soon as an arrow landed into the skin of the phantom, it flew up into the air again. Dream continued to rain arrows down upon it in a flurry of anger. George gained the knowledge that he was overwhelmingly happy to have Dream on his side instead of against him. He also got a smile aimed at him before the enigma slithered back into the shadows. 

After that incident, he had a peaceful sleep and started to sleep more often during the nights. Dream told him in a letter that the phantoms came if someone didn't sleep for a while. This made George act accordingly and sleep. 

George was advised to search through the desert for a lava pool. At first, George was dreading the idea of stepping foot into the sandy hell of heat, but Dream assured him that the desert was heaven compared to where they were going. All of this was argued between written words, the pair still having a hard time getting close to one another. It frustrated George that Dream wouldn't just emerge from the shadows and start to search by his side. Dream instead operated from far away, only stepping in when he feared that George would get hurt, and that wasn't often. George noticed how much less Dream feared for him. He was starting to see George as an equal, someone with enough strength to take care of themself. It was subtle that Dream's views on George were changing, but it made George happy nonetheless. 

George was currently trudging through the sands of the desert, his body sweating profusely. His hair was stuck to his forehead and the nape of his neck. He had to pull his clout goggles from his shirt and put them on to block out the intense blazing of the sunlight from his eyes. He would occasionally turn to look behind him, seeing Dream's unfazed figure following contentedly behind him as though he were a baby duck following his mother. He was confused that Dream could remain unperturbed in the situation when he was wearing a cloak. He didn't even bother to remove the hood from his head. 

"Are you not hot?" George called out to the other male loudly. A tilt of a mask was what he got in return. 

"Yes but I'm used to it!" Dream quipped, his meaning something different. George could tell this because of the amusement coating Dream's words. 

"Haha, you're _so hot_ , Dream," George grumbled with a heightened volume, rolling his eyes. He could hear the far away chuckle that the other supplied. The side of his mouth twitched, desiring to lift into a smile. 

"I know, I'm _irresistible_ ," Dream's lips held a large smile, warming George's heart more than the sunlight ever could. 

"Come stand beside me so we can test that theory," George remarked, trying to slip his want for Dream to be closer into the conversation. He thought he did a pretty good job. 

"You wish," Dream scoffed an entirely overdramatic scoff so that George could hear it. "You just tested the theory and it came out correct. You want me _near_ you," Dream teased, a smirk evident by his tone. 

" _You_ wish," George replied. "I just can't hear you from all the way up here."

"I believe you can hear me just fine!" Dream yelled, amplifying his voice even more. It was George's turn to scoff. Just as George was about to turn his head to yell back, Dream yelled his name at the top of his lungs. George froze in place, whipping his head around to see why he had just been screamed at so desperately. Dream looked panicked, his pace faster as he made his way over to George. "You idiot! Watch where you're going, George."

George tilted his head before turning back around. His eyes trailed down to meet the lava pool beneath him. Dream had stopped him from stepping any farther to his demise. This was just embarrassing at this point. 

"Thanks..." George mumbled as he scrambled away from the edge, refusing to look towards Dream. 

"You're so bad," Dream huffed a small laugh. "You made me have a heart attack."

"How did you even see the lava pool from back there?" George stared at the golden semi-liquid that emitted a strong heat. 

"I just got up the hill, and I noticed the hole. I didn't know it was specifically lava," Dream sucked in a breath of air. George turned his head at the sound, looking at the masked man who appeared to be staring down at him. "God, stop doing that, George."

"Doing what?"

"Being such an idiot, scaring me, looking cute while doing it-" Dream started to pick off his fingers while he listed things before George cut him off, pushing his hands down with his own. 

"Stop that," George huffed, his face warming even more than it was from the unbearable heat of the desert. 

"Stop what, cutie?" Dream nonchalantly questioned, tilting his masked head. A smirk was playing on his lips. 

" _That_. Stop calling me cute," George pushed Dream's shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes once again. Dream bounced back, leaning his face down to George's.

"No," he gave a genuine smile, an innocently playful tone of voice. You would expect a heart to accompany a refusal like that. 

"You're so annoying," George shook his head, letting a breath out from his nose. 

"Would you prefer me calling you pretty? Handsome? Beautiful? Oo enchanting?" Dream droned on, his voice buzzing in George's ears. _Dumbass_. 

"Shut up," George could barely think anymore, the heat around them not helping. The warmth that Dream had given his cheeks only deepened, and it was getting hard to breathe. The desert was taking a toll, and George was overheating. "Let's make this portal before I melt."

"I regret to inform you that it is even hotter in the Nether," Dream gazed at George with a curious eye, pulling his lip between his teeth in concern. "Are you okay?" 

"It's even hotter there?" George brushed a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back from it. "I'm already sweating so much."

"Yeah, um... you can't place any water in the Nether. I have an idea, though, and I have enough iron for it. I'll make us something for when we get inside, but use your bucket of water right now to cool yourself down. We're too far from another biome," Dream was now in serious mode, already placing a crafting table down to do what his idea entailed. George raised an eyebrow, wondering what Dream's idea was. He peeled his eyes away to do what Dream had advised. He placed his bucket down and sat beside it, dunking his arms into the bucket. His arms were instantly overcome with relief, and the sweat was washed from them. He pushed his clout goggles up into his hair, bending over the bucket and picking some water up into his cupped palms, splashing his face with the cool liquid. He let out a relieved sigh, trying not to let any of the water trickle into his mouth. He didn't know if it would give him some kind of illness. He desperately wished he could drink it, though. 

"Can you drink the water in your bucket without getting some kind of disease?" George asked the taller male, who didn't turn to look at him. He would have assumed that Dream hadn't heard him if he didn't speak. 

"I've always done it, and I haven't gotten any diseases," Dream stayed focused on his task at hand, grabbing iron ingots from the furnaces George hadn't noticed. George needed no more confirmation than this, taking a large gulp of the water. He didn't remember the sweat and dirt that had washed off of his body and into the water until after he had tasted it. He stuck his tongue out, spitting out into the sand beside him to get the taste out of his mouth. He didn't regret drinking, but he did regret being caught by surprise with the taste. He felt a lot more relieved now that his dry throat was able to gain some moisture again. He stood after he was finished, grabbing his bucket as he rose. His eyes went back to Dream, watching the male pick up a large iron cauldron and shoving it into his bag. Dream gathered his materials and turned back to George with a small smile. "I'm ready."

"Not before you drink some water. We've been walking with no rest for a while. You might want to drink out of your bucket though, I dunked my nasty arms in mine," George started to return his bucket to his bag, but it was taken from his arms and lifted as Dream drunk out of it. George's nose curled up in disgust, remembering the taste of the water. Dream seemed to agree once he pulled back from the bucket, swallowing before spitting into the sand. 

"You were right. I should've drunk mine," Dream brought his sleeve up to rub his mouth. His cloak lifted, and George got to see the tight-fitting black shirt beneath it. He also got to catch a glimpse of a belt. George had always wondered what Dream was wearing beneath his cloak. Now he knew. It made sense that he could see the black material that stopped midway up Dream's neck. It was a tight-fitting turtleneck. 

"I warned you," George shrugged, taking his bucket back and putting it into his bag. "Why didn't you listen?"

"I didn't want to pull my bucket out," Dream whined, grimacing. George laughed at his expense. 

"Well, pull out your bucket and make the portal, please," George smirked, gesturing to the lava pool. 

"You're such an asshole," Dream held a hand to his mouth and turned his head to the side. George laughed more, watching as Dream reached into his bag and pulled his bucket of water out. Dream walked to the edge of the lava pool, placing a block of cobblestone down and jumping onto it. George sucked in a breath of air, clenching his teeth together. Dream seemed to chuckle at this, but it was covered by a lava pop. Dream poured his water, the lava sizzling in protest. George looked over the edge to gaze at the black volcanic rock that had formed in place of the lava. His mouth formed an 'o' with his excitement at the change. The obsidian had formed in a semi-circle around Dream's water placement once Dream had broken his original piece of cobblestone. He watched Dream place three pieces of cobblestone up on the side, making an upside-down 'L.' He watched as Dream left two places of sand on the side and dug the rest away, digging a hole one space behind the upside-down 'L' of cobblestone. Dream scooped his water back into his bucket and poured it at the side of the top piece of cobblestone on the upside-down 'L.' It continued to flow from the source block and George watched, mesmerised as Dream scooped lava into his bucket, quickly creating the rest of the portal with practiced expertise. Dream ended with his pickaxe, breaking the two spots beneath the water and relocating the water to the bottom. With two last buckets of water, the portal was finished. Dream took a flint and steel from his bag after scooping the water back up into his bucket, hitting the two together to create a spark that hit the obsidian. As the spark caught the obsidian, it exploded in a deep blue light, the deep blue spreading in swirls over the rectangular portal. Deep blue particles danced around the portal, which now released a mystic sound. 

"Woah," George's eyes searched the portal in wonder. He saw Dream standing on the other side, staring at him. 

"Very woah," Dream chuckled. "Are you ready to step through? Cooled off enough?" 

"I think so," George's stomach was full of knots, fear building up in an ugly rage. This time he had Dream on his side, he would be okay. It would be okay. 

"Are you sure?" Dream leaned forward towards the rippling deep blue of the portal. Was it blue or purple? 

"Yes. One question first though," George stared at the ripples, restraining himself from reaching forward and touching it. 

"Mhm?" Dream hummed in reply, awaiting the question.

"Is the portal purple or blue?" George cringed as he asked, feeling awkward for having to ask. 

"It's purple," George could see the gentle smile that reached towards him from the other side of the portal. Through the veil of purple. 

"Okay, I'm ready now," George returned the smile.

"Grab my hand and step into the portal with me," Dream waited for a nod before pushing his hand through the swirling purple substance. George instantly intertwined their fingers, letting Dream pull him in his direction. 

They were going to the Nether. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nether Nether Nether Nether,  
> you guys ready?  
> also,, I finished chapter thirteen so I felt generous <3 LOL jk I just love you all too much not to update so frequently


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was suffocatingly hot in the Nether. A sweltering heat that made George's throat cry out for water. He was thankful for Dream giving him time to cool off before they entered the Nether portal. What he wasn't thankful for was the unrelentingly dry air wavering around the area. It bit at his arms and threatened to set his hair ablaze just by him being in its presence. The heat of the Nether was angry, aggressively coercing him with baleful whispers. He wasn't welcome here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well damn,, another chapter. This is what happens when people make me simp 🥰

His breath caught in his throat as an endless swirl of vibrant blue overtook his vision. The continuous movement conjured a pit of nausea in his stomach, encouraging him to find a source of stability. The fingers that were intertwined with his own seemed to provide that comfort, and he pulled himself closer to Dream, squeezing the masked man's hand. He didn't dare breathe, scared that a sensation such as drowning would occur. Dream took this as an invitation to snake his free arm around George's back, offering even more security to the smaller. 

The breathy groan of the portal beset them, a constant sound reminiscent of something dripping accompanying it. The groan grew more aggressive, filling George's ears until his head was beginning to pound with the intensity. At the pounding, his other hand shot up to Dream's side, clutching at the fabric of his cloak. Dream pulled him impossibly closer, giving him the comfort he desired. 

A sudden yank had George stumbling his way out of the deep blue veil of light. As the blue faded from his vision, his eyes searched for that mask, desperation running through his veins. The arm around his waist left, and a gloved hand reached up to his face, gently tilting George's head forward and up. George calmed, relaxing once his eyes met those void holes meant to be eyes. A light smile graced Dream's lips upon grasping the reaction that George gave at the sight of him. "We made it, Georgie."

"I would hope," George breathlessly snorted. He didn't need to focus on finding Dream anymore, and he didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse. Not focusing on finding Dream meant that he could now feel the effects of the Nether, but it also meant that Dream was still with him. George couldn't be blamed for questioning the integrity of Dream's promise to protect him. He had proven himself so far, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't switch up on George again. Betrayal was a bitter action, and the feeling of being betrayed was a bitter emotion. 

It was suffocatingly hot in the Nether. A sweltering heat that made George's throat cry out for water. He was thankful for Dream giving him time to cool off before they entered the Nether portal. What he wasn't thankful for was the unrelentingly dry air wavering around the area. It bit at his arms and threatened to set his hair ablaze just by him being in its presence. The heat of the Nether was angry, aggressively coercing him with baleful whispers. He wasn't welcome here. 

George had to reluctantly pry himself away from Dream due to the heat building between the two. George was glistening with the sweat that had already started to shed in response to his baking body. Dream's hand ran through George's hair, pushing it back away from his forehead. "You really do sweat a lot."

"Well, you don't sweat enough. Is your body broken or something?" George mumbled his question, slightly embarrassed with the sweat that solely wanted to extend a cooling sensation to his sweltering body. 

"My body's not _broken_. I'm just used to it," Dream chuckled lightheartedly. Funny how they could joke while being, quite literally, in hell. 

"How often do you come?" George took a look around for the first time, suddenly wanting to gaze at the dimension that Dream was familiar with. This particular area was barren, a wasteland of sorts. Nothing seemed to be around the two, or at least nothing living. It was an expansive area of nothing, but the material beneath their feet save for a few other patches of sparkling gold and shining quartz. The quartz almost seemed dull in the dusky lighting of the Nether, and the gold was in pieces as though torn apart. The Nether seemed irreconcilable, hostile beyond belief. George could feel the spite all around him, and he wasn't sure if Dream got the same behavior shown towards him or not. All George could be sure of was the odd blanket of aggression mixed with loneliness. Both emotions warped the Nether around their fingers, rotting the land to its core and leaving a place of nothing but the burgundy ground. His eyes couldn't pick up the color; it was a rather ugly one to him, void of the purple undertones and, instead, looking like more of a black. 

"Often enough," Dream's voice was quiet, enough so to prompt George to look at him. Dream was gazing out where George just had, a slight frown spoiling his lips. George's curiosity about the land only rose at the expression he had caught Dream displaying. This dimension was one that Dream didn't enjoy coming to that much was apparent. 

"Let's find the fortress," George considered that Dream deserved some comfort of his own and placed his hand on his shoulder, lightly rubbing his thumb along it. He wanted Dream to know that this time it wouldn't be as bad. This time Dream had George with him. He wasn't alone anymore. Dream's lip tugged upward in a scanty smile. It was enough of a sign for George that he got his point across. 

Dream took the lead in finding the fortress, and George couldn't complain even though he felt a little useless. Dream knew the Nether much better than he did and would be a better leader. Dream knew the monsters that lurked in the shadows and could properly anticipate where they were. This was confirmed when Dream's arm shot out in front of George, effectively hindering him from moving forward. George didn't know why Dream had stopped him from moving anymore, but Dream was looking intensely at a shaded spot in the crumbly rock that the floor was comprised of. A distant snort caught George by surprise, almost forcing a laugh out of his throat. A _snort_. What made that noise? George wouldn't be lying when saying that his anticipation spiked from that noise. It sounded so small and idiotic. 

In his anticipation, he didn't realize that Dream was straying away from him, towards where the noise had come from. All he discerned was the creature that emerged from the shadows with what resembled an _oink_. His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open in surprise at the figure. What he could make out from the dim lighting was a pig, but that pig stood on two legs. It was small-that much could be seen notwithstanding the elevation George was viewing it from. It was clothed, small brown clothes flowing over its tiny body. Everything about the animal hinted at the fact that it was a pig except for the odd stance it took. Seeing a pig standing on its hind legs and walking around as though that was the most natural for it was flabbergasting. What was most haunting were its pure white eyes. The unnatural light emitted from them illuminated the surrounding area in a faint white. The snout of the pig wrinkled naturally, small tusks protruding from beneath like those of a boar. 

George was broken from his staring when he heard a relieved sigh from Dream. His eyes tracked to where the other was, realization setting in that Dream had been drifting away from him to get a better glimpse of the creature. "It's a kid. It won't attack us."

"A child?" George eyed the small monster that was picking at the barren ground with a hoof. He felt a sense of guilt build up in his chest even though he hadn't done anything to it. "What is it?"

"A piglin," Dream was also eyeing the child but he seemed to harbor hostile feelings towards it. 

"The ones we trade with for ender pearls?" George faintly remembered his talk about ender pearls only because he was cautioned about the strength of endermen. It made sense that those who held the key to getting into the End were more powerful than the normal monsters that fought George. 

"Yes, they trade for a lot of things, but pearls are what we want from them. Whenever you see patches of gold, get it with your pickaxe," Dream pointed out one of the patches to George. Of course, this was one of the first things that George had laid eyes upon once he wasn't distracted by Dream's embrace, so he merely nodded in response. But he was curious as to why Dream had such bad blood with the children of this certain creature. It itched at his throat as he watched Dream trek over to the vein of golden speckles with his pickaxe in hand. 

"Why do you hate the children?" the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could close his mouth as a barrier to block the words from escaping. Dream wasn't phased because of the question, proceeding to crouch and break the gold. 

"They steal gold when you're focused on trading with the older ones," Dream's voice held malice towards the tiny, harmless-looking piglin child. The reason that Dream gave for hating the child wasn't a bad one, but do all of them steal? He couldn't possibly hold a grudge against all of the children just because one of them stole from him, could he?

"Do all of them do it?" George glanced back at the piglin kid that was still poking at the ground with its hoofs. He couldn't tell what it was doing. Maybe it was looking for food; maybe it was looking for gold. George couldn't be sure. 

"Are you accusing me of hating children for no good reason?" Dream's voice wasn't serious. It was joking, but George panicked at the thought of Dream thinking that way. Dream chuckled at his reaction, wiping a gloved hand over his chin in a poor attempt to conceal it. 

"Of course not, Dreamie, just making conversation," it was a sad excuse, and George had even used the addition of Dream's nickname to distract from the excuse. Dream was smarter than that, and he instantly weeded out the excuse without letting himself get diverted. 

"Oh, of course, _Georgie_ ," George flinched at the teasing emphasis that Dream added to the nickname. Dream let out a low chuckle that sent George's head spiraling. "I'm not going to hate a bunch of children because only one of them stole. I've had to sell for fire resistance potions before and I kept putting a lot of gold in a pile for the piglins to inspect and trade me for. Those little bastards kept coming up and plucking the gold up while I was searching for more nuggets to combine into ingots."

"How'd you know they were the ones stealing it?" George tilted his head, a gentle smile across his lips as he observed the other telling his story. Dream was so passionate about his dislike for the little thieves. 

"They were holding the ingots like they didn't have pockets, taunting me like the little goblins they are," Dream animatedly swooped his yield of nuggets off of the dry rock it was encased in. "They were _running_ from me so I couldn't get the gold back."

"Okay okay, I get it Dream, you hate children," George smirked, following the masked man with his eyes. He no longer felt threatened by the mask that was once so fear-inducing. Dream's lips pulled taut as he looked at George in silence. 

"Oh, come on," Dream held his arms out to his sides as if he were exasperated. Both males soon broke off in laughter after George initiated it with his giggles. They were having fun by each other's sides that much was clear by their joyous laughter in the middle of the barren hell that beat down its unforgiving heat upon them. 

George still let out random giggles after they had finished their breakdown of laughter, a strong feeling of happiness taking over his mind, fuzzy and overwhelmed with giggles. Dream was on his side now. Not the dragon's, not neutral, not aiding from the shadows. Dream was face-to-face with him, making physical and emotional contact with him. Dream was there for him and would have his back. All it took was a mildly mean letter of anger and a confusing act of harm that fizzled down to comfort and self-loathing. _As if that was simple and natural at the start of teaming up_. None of that mattered now. He was free to have Dream by his side, protecting him. He would protect Dream, too, with all he had. 

A snort to his side had him bursting into laughter again, George no longer caring to restrain himself from laughing. It was an endless cycle, and Dream's laughter was too contagious for George to stop getting trapped in the same cycle. Dream's laugh was pleasant, the epitome of his voice. George wanted to make him laugh harder to see where that laugh would go, how high it could get. 

George took it into his own hands to hone his humor and imitate the snort of the child. He snorted mid-laugh and almost choked when the sound escaped himself. Dream's laugh grew, reaching its potential to throw George into an endless howl of laughter that wracked his chest painfully. Dream had started to wheeze, a perfect rendition of a tea kettle on a stove. George struggled to speak between his laughs, uttering a strangled, "you _wheeze_?"

"You _snorted_!" Dream spoke through his wheeze, a talent within itself, sounding like a deflating balloon in his efforts. He slapped his knee in an attempt to make himself breathe properly. " _I can't breathe_."

George and Dream continued to choke on their own laughter, struggling to breathe past the catastrophic laughs that both of them let slip. The dry, hot air didn't help in their attempts to breathe, only creating more of a struggle for the two. George was starting to cry, aiding in eliminating the dryness of his eyes, but not aiding in his gasps for air. Dream was in the same state; tears clouding his vision and wheezes becoming painful. He was okay when only one wheeze managed to escape, but multiple in succession made his throat and stomach clench sorely. 

Eventually, the two calmed down their laughter to a few breathy chuckles each. Their cheeks hurt from the large smiles that painted their faces. They were lucky to have been in an area with little pig people. 

"You are _unbelievable_ ," Dream coughed out, voice strained from his laughter. 

"Am I now?" George raised an eyebrow, a smile still wide across his face. 

"Yes, what was that snort?" Dream lifted his mask away from his face to allow his hand access to his eyes before wiping his tears away. George's smile was proud. He was proud of himself for making Dream's laughs progress into wheezes. 

"I wanted to make you laugh harder," George stated confidently. Dream's cheeks would have warmed if he wasn't already so hot. 

"Well, thank you. That was the hardest I've laughed in a while," Dream smiled affectionately at George, chest rising and falling harder due to the deep, labored breaths he had to take after abusing his lungs. George's mind felt light, joy nestling in to enjoy its stay a little longer. 

"I like your laugh. Do it more often," George nonchalantly stated, turning away from Dream in case his nerves showed in his eye contact. 

"Only if you do," Dream replied with as much nonchalance as George had. George felt like he was boiling alive. The desert was kind compared to this. The desert allowed water. A breath wisped across the top of George's ear as Dream spoke, "Cutie."

"Shut up," George gave Dream a small shove before attempting to hide his face behind his hand. Dream giggled at the reaction he conjured up. 

The two men fell into a comfortable silence after George's last words floated through the vast space of red-violet. The occasional snorts came from the small piglin that seemed to have given up on whatever it was doing with the ground. George didn't laugh this time, slowly getting used to the noises it made. His eyes inspected the distance that was coated in a hot fog that had a slight tint to it. The veiled area eluded George's scrutinizing, mystery twisting in the burning embers and flitting ashes. He wanted to see further but he felt afraid of the inscrutable land beyond the fog. A sense of dread came when his thoughts drifted to the dimension they were in. The unbearable heat mixed with the enigmatic distant lands had his stomach turning in fearful anticipation. 

George looked to the confident man by his side, mask shimmering in all its porcelain glory and casual smile upon his tan face. He radiated security and skill, even with nothing in hand. His leather straps looked dry, as though they would crumble apart if tugged hard enough. But they continued to hold his items, heavy sword dangling from the straps with no caving. George almost forgot that he had a sword by his own side, having been free of use for so long. He was starting to rely too much on Dream. He needed to use his own sword more often, defend himself instead of looking for Dream to swoop in and save the day. He wasn't a princess in need of rescuing. Maybe he should act like it. 

George wasn't focused. Tragedy struck as it does when George gets wrapped up in his thoughts. This time it was something different. He wasn't in danger of falling down a cliff. His valuables were in danger from the grimy hoofs of the piglin child. Who better to save his valuables than Dream? Said man shook his head, seeing the piglin reaching for George's bag. Of course, George hadn't gathered any gold, and the piglin would come up empty-handed, but Dream wasn't going to let the child root through George's bag to its content. Dream reached over and scooped the piglin up into the air, holding under its arms like a child seizing a cat. The piglin did not regard Dream like a lazy cat would, showing no interest and letting it happen. The piglin kicked the air as it tried but failed to get Dream to release it with a cacophony of grunts and snorts. Dream wasn't humored by this nor did he wish to torture the small fellow, but he was trying to steal from his companion and that wouldn't go unnoticed. 

George was broken from his thoughts when he saw the piglin child wiggling in Dream's hands, grunting desperately in its attempt to escape. George was taken aback, eyeing the child with wide eyes. His eyes flickered between the kid and Dream, confusion evident on his features. Why was this child being dangled in front of him like a sad toy? What did the child do this time? 

"The child was trying to dig through your bag for gold," Dream offered a lopsided grin, keeping the child balanced in his hands. The piglin child still squirmed, but it wasn't fighting nearly as much as when its fight or flight response kicked in. George gave the child a disapproving look, getting closer to it to be heard clearly. 

"Didn't you get taught manners? You don't go searching through strangers' bags. They might stab you," the piglin child looked at George with its white eyes gleaming in curiosity. It couldn't understand George; that was clear. This didn't matter. George would give the child a thorough lecture. Dream was looking at him, adoration shining in his hidden eyes. "You're lucky I'm here, or else Dream would have killed you. Do you understand what death is? No more gold. None. All gone, only death."

The piglin snorted at George, grunting soon after as though it was trying to communicate with the male in front of it. "Understood?" A grunt. George deemed this good enough, looking up at Dream to tell him to let the kid go. His heart fluttered at the soft smile that he was being gazed down upon with. "It's good to go."

"You think it learned its lesson?" Dream tilted his head, amusement in the curved depths of his lips. The child was growing impatient, returning to its writhing. 

"Maybe," George nodded his head. Dream gently set the child down, letting it run off freely. 

"Okay. I think I got enough gold nuggets to make enough ingots for two pairs of boots," Dream started to rummage in his bag, pausing for a second before shuffling his items around. His lips tugged into a frown at the outcome. "I think that little bitch took my nuggets."

"Shit... sorry," George rubbed the back of his neck, looking off in the direction the little pig person ran off in. "Looks like it didn't learn its lesson," George pouted, turning back to Dream. The masked man sighed but a smile tugged his lips upward at the sight of George's bottom lip that was now poking out. 

"Looks like it did not. I learned my lesson though," Dream let his bag fall back against his hip. 

"What's that?"

"To kill all piglin children I see."

"No-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortest chapter, but its been like a day or two since the last update so it should be fine :)   
> Piglin child go brrr


	10. t en

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't want to stray too far into the forest, but Dream had said that he could go away from him, just not far. George didn't need to heed Dream's words. He was his own man. Being an obedient puppy never got anyone anywhere. 

"I'm getting this gold, don't go too far and watch out for hoglins," Dream's voice called out to George, who was currently picking at the crimson nylium beside him, a certain curiosity fueling him. They had traveled through the nether wastes and stumbled upon a crimson forest. George had no clue what anything was, a new experience for him just as the netherrack of the nether wastes had been. Luckily they had equipped themselves with golden armor, George a helmet, and Dream a pair of boots. In this biome, the number of piglins was significantly higher than in the nether wastes. Their grunts and snorts filled the air, children roaming the area in between the elder piglins with beady white eyes that begged for some golden satisfaction. Huge fungus connected to the ground, bundling together around the ground, obscuring George's vision to the rest of the forest. He strained for a view into the abnormal environment, curious about what lies beyond the outer edge. He didn't want to stray too far into the forest, but Dream had said that he could go away from him, just not far. George didn't need to heed Dream's words. He was his own man. Being an obedient puppy never got anyone anywhere. 

"Have fun," George looked over his shoulder, but Dream was no longer in sight. A pit started to form in his stomach, although he pushed it aside for his mind's sake. Dream didn't need to be by his side at all times. That would be ridiculous. Dream wouldn't dare abandon George either. They made it this far with no intervention from the dragon. What were another few weeks? She would be dead by then, and they wouldn't have to worry any longer. They could be free and independent. George just needed to learn how to be independent on his own first. He could potentially find something useful for the two of them. 

With a small amount of hesitation, George stepped foot into the crimson forest. The atmosphere absurdly seemed to spike. The area felt alive, a stark difference to the previous biome he had been in before. The previous area held no life; the only living thing was the occasional piglin. To add to the nether wastes lifeless feeling, passive zombified piglins roamed the area with void, emotionless grunts. Their meat was peeled back and revealed some bone past green, infected skin. All of them somehow had similar head injuries, the skin and meat along one side of their face always revealing their skull.

This crimson forest didn't hold the void loneliness that the nether wastes did. The crimson forest made its life known with a simple atmosphere of overgrowth and snorts. It was practically infected with fungus, the huge drooping nether wart tops meshing together to make navigation difficult. The stems of the huge fungus looked as though they had veins of blue wrapping around them. The dim area was naturally lit by a curious yellow glow. The source of this light was bulbous, resembling the eye of an insect. What didn't help anything were the weeping vines that hung down from the trees, adding to the cluttered feel of the fungi infected forest. Crimson fungi speckled the floor along with the crimson roots that threatened to catch his feet and trip him. 

George pushed through the shaggy nether wart growth and weeping vines, hoping that neither would cause his skin to develop weird abnormalities. He couldn't assume anything through Dream; the majority of his skin was covered. From what George had seen, Dream had no skin conditions. Dream's skin was fairly smooth, clear, and gorgeously tanned. Dream's tan must have been natural unless his tan lines were horrible and the only tan he had were his lower face and upper neck. George hoped it was the previous thought for Dream's sake. 

After avoiding multiple piglins with the fear that they would freak out over anything foreign being in their personal bubble, George was in a clearing where he could see a small portion of the Nether above him. Another layer of the Nether was above him, netherrack protruding in odd, uneven layers. The biome remained the crimson forest on that layer, a large creature looking out over the lava lake that appeared to block the rest of the Nether from them. George hoped that Dream wouldn't take him on an adventure over a lava lake on a thin bridge. He wasn't sure his heart could handle walking across the gravity-defying material over lava, much less standing on the bridge for an extended period of time while waiting for Dream to progress in his building. 

George took a second to look around, building up in cobblestone to check the area ahead of him. The fog that shrouded the distance in mystery continued to keep it concealed in this biome but George spotted a dark wall of what appeared to be stone bricks in a darker color than the usual steely grey. George, intrigued by this, didn't bother to break his cobblestone tower before climbing down and taking off in the direction he saw the dark structure. He almost made it past the last huge fungus that hid the structure from his direct eyesight when a deep snort caught his attention. He turned around in shock, meeting eyes with a pair of glowering white ones. These were different from the passive piglins gaze that either fell on him with curiosity or apathy. These were hostile, holding the intent to kill deep within. The long wrinkled snout was turned in his direction, threatening tusks pointed towards him. The creature was huge, bulky with muscle and meat. It stood firm with a purpose, hooved feet pushed to the ground readily. Along its spine was a spiked mane of coarse hair, permanently appearing to stick up from overexposure to heat. 

George twisted back around, breath catching in his throat when he heard the hooves of the creature dig into the ground as it pushed to run after him. He took off, fear penetrating his mind and a deep-set regret for straying too far from Dream. This must have been a hoglin, the exact creature Dream told him to keep an eye out for. George dove behind a tree, flinching at the chipped stem chunks that flew his way from the impact of the piglin ramming its tusks into it. He backed away as the hoglin moved its head in an attempt to free itself, his unblinking stare frozen on the creature in terror. He jogged backward, throwing his gaze over his shoulder for a second to make sure he wouldn't run into anything. His eyes fell onto the creature again to see it finally free itself from the thick stem.  
  
His feet took over his movements for him, taking him forward through the crimson trees with haste. He couldn't think beyond reaching the black structure he had seen before. The stone reached a welcoming hand out to him in comparison to the oversized boar charging after him. George ducked under weeping vines, not present enough to flinch at the slap they brought upon hitting his cheek. He stumbled on outstretched roots and narrowly avoided stems in his attempt to get away to a somewhat safer area. The idea to build up out of reach of the hoglin struck him suddenly. This would take a few seconds too long if the hoglin was too close. Luckily, George's maneuvers under the trees allowed for space to be created between him and the aggressive creature. Trying to speed his process up, he pushed himself to run that extra bit harder. 

Reaching a hand into his bag, George was able to wrap his fingers around some netherrack he luckily collected while waiting for Dream to get gold nuggets from the rock. He dug his nails into the crumbly material, pushing his bag back to his hip. He looked over his shoulder once more, catching the hoglin's pink flesh peeking from behind the crimson fungi. Determination filled him as he saw the hooved thick, stubby legs of the hoglin break the crimson line of overgrowth. He was fueled by his fear and desire to live. Moving fast, he placed the material upon the ground and climbed on top of it. He towered, rapid heart beating to the pace of his placing. The pounding of the large hooved beast hurling itself towards George's tower filled the air and George's ears, blocking out any other sounds and escalating George's heartbeat. 

The netherrack beneath his feet trembled staggeringly as the hoglin rammed its head into the rock, dangerously close to him. George's breaths became shaky and uneven as he backed himself against the blackstone wall behind him, his eyes locking on to the pink fleshy back of the writhing hoglin. It terrified him. The monster looked like it could crush him and eat him alive. What would Dream think of his predicament? Surely nothing good. Dream was probably cursing him out in his head at the moment. Or out loud. He was probably upset. Maybe he thought George left him. Or died. It wasn't that farfetched to think he was dead at the moment. His heart was working overdrive, and soon it might give up on him and suddenly stop. 

After closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, George continued to tower, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands that was caused by the sudden jolts the hoglin gave the tower. It took a lot of effort to keep himself from falling over the edge with the constant movement and bending he needed to do to place the material. Eventually, he got to a point where it appeared that the hoglin had given up. The tremors were no more, and he was able to take a steady breath and steel himself. He continued his way up until he saw over the large bridge between two structures, all made of the same blackstone material. Some of the material had cracks, while others looked like they were just created and placed. The steady pained groan of the Nether blocked out the small noises around him, including footsteps and the stable crumbling of his netherrack tower. Only when the rock beneath his feet started palpitating, George noticed that he was in danger. In a last whimsical stretch, George managed to get one of his feet securely planted on the blackstone. He gave one final push against the collapsing netherrack, maneuvering himself in such a way that he would be safe on the blackstone bridge. 

George gazed down at where the tower was catching up with the top, eyes observing the plumes of smoke that billowed out from the bottom of the fragmented rock that cascaded upon the pile of its brethren. The hoglin that had dealt the last blow to the tower sat wriggling under the rock pieces. George sneered at the sight, believing that the hoglin deserved to be trapped below the rock. If anything, better the hoglin than him. That bitch tried to get to him with all of its might and was now paying the price for it.

He stepped away from the edge, making his safety known to the Nether surrounding him with the smile that spread over his lips. Unluckily for him, the Nether saw this as a carelessly hopeful view, sending in one of its great fighters. George had no time to notice this fighter. George was mesmerized by something else, something that made his heart flutter in anticipation. A shiny material in a solid lump that looked large enough for eight ingots at least. George pulled his lip between his teeth, unable to stop the smile that was pushing to spread. Gold, just what they needed. A lot of it. If George could get it, he would be able to prove himself to Dream further. He would be able to show Dream that he really was a valuable asset, one that Dream wouldn't want to abandon. Even if Dream only used him for escape, this would all have been worth it to have the other fight by his side. Getting a handsome amount of gold would also aid in alleviating Dream's anger and concern. 

George was hit with a sick sense of dread just as a quick footstep reached his ears. The Nether had done a wonderful job masking the sound before that moment in which the piglin was too close to remain unheard. George didn't even get the chance to turn around, to protect himself. The piglin had reeled its axe back and arched a swing into George's right side before he could react, the flesh tearing apart and instantly beginning to flow hot crimson. George's mind frayed, pain filtering into it from all the nerves that had just been damaged. The pain was searing, and the dry air of the Nether intruded into the injury painfully. George cried out in agony as the axe-wielder proceeded to snatch the axe from his body, blood splattering on both of them from the forceful exit. George's heart felt faint. Never had he ever truly been stabbed before, much less chopped. The blade had easily inserted itself through his skin, malicious intent held within it. The wielder was not the only one who wished for his death. 

George couldn't let the piglin slice through his skin a second time since the first was already too much for his body and mind. He spun around, that pit of dread deepening at the difference in this piglin. Instead of the brown, tattered clothing of the normal piglins, this piglin had black clothing. True to the other piglins, the one in front of him had multiple golden accessories, including the axe that was lodged in his side a few seconds previous. But this piglin was bigger, and it seemed to have mindless aggression that the other piglin did not possess. The other piglins gave everything and everyone they came across a chance as long as they had golden accessories on them. This one did not care whether you were wearing gold or not; it would attack regardless. This piglin was brutal, shredding away at anything and anyone it deemed an intruder. 

George spun around, throwing his shield up in an attempt to block the next attack that crashed against him. His arms buckled under the pressure, his shield successfully disabled. Gritting his teeth, George kicked his shield away from himself, unsheathing his iron sword as the brute recovered from the knockback. George no longer had his shield on him during this battle. It was piglin against human, a brave defender against an intrusive force. 

George parried the next blow from the golden axe, his shoulders aching under the pressure of taking the brunt of axe hits. The piglin's eyes were vacant, and whether it was from the blank white glare or the lack of human connection, George wasn't sure. All George knew was that it resembled fighting Dream. Dream was a force, one without the linking human features George strived to read during a battle. Dream's mask prevented George from seeing the common eyes that most humans were born with. George had no way to predict what Dream would do. He had no sideways glances, no eye contact, no darting to view, no half-lidded gazes. This piglin was similar, the desolate stare of eyes that barely allowed change. The whole eye was the same color, and the skin around the eyes hardly changed from a singular angered furrow. It was perverse to associate the piglin's body language with anything he was familiar with. He had never fought one before. He wasn't accustomed to their movements. He didn't even have a vague understanding of what their inner works were like. 

George's lack of understanding shined through in his attempt to attack the piglin. He tried to sweep his sword across its body, underestimating the time it would take for the piglin to recover. A crushing pain spread through his back, the axe of his foe grazing the top of his flesh through the newly formed slit in his armor. He had hit his mark, a sweeping cut sprouting blood where he had swiped his sword. 

A fleeting thought brought him back to where he was. The reality of the situation was that he was outmatched. This creature had no armor, but it was a tank with the ability to force George's shield out of commission. He was utterly screwed. But what mattered was finding a way, a way to become victorious against this beast. George needed to get that gold, and this piglin was in the way. This was his chance to surprise Dream. He could make it up to Dream. He had disrespected Dream's wishes and went far from him when he was getting gold. He blatantly ignored the masked man who now made it his mission to protect him. He had to prove that he had gone away for a good reason. That gold was a good reason. 

"Leave me alone," George slashed at the piglin again, only angering it more. He knew that talking to the thing wouldn't help his case any more than silently slashing away at it, but something in him felt the need to try. He needed to try to end this fight on a passive note instead of one of their deaths. That death would not be his. 

The response that George obtained was nothing more than a dissatisfied snort. The piglin only reared his arms back and tried to chop George in half, starting with his head. Luckily, George was a tad bit more skilled than the piglin seemed to expect. George rolled to the side, simultaneously slicing at the piglin's legs. He could feel his blade digging into the meaty shins just as much as he felt the blood fly at him and land directly on his cheek. This feeling, one of harming the one hunting him, was invigorating. Maybe this time it was different because he had a chance. The piglin wasn't nearly as agile as Dream, especially when compared to Dream's control with his axe. George was agile himself, making it hard for the piglin to hit him in the amount of time it took for it to prepare its axe for another hit. As long as George could keep dodging and getting small hits in, he would be able to complete his adventure away from Dream. Needless to say, George was sticking to Dream's side for the rest of their Nether trip. 

Somewhere during the middle of the fight, George decided he would use this brute as practice instead of thinking of it as a threat to his life. He would be cautious and put his all into the fight, but he would also have fun with it. He deserved to have fun dueling with someone. He doubted that Dream would trust himself to do so. George had to make do with what he can and, at this moment, that was dueling with this piglin. Becoming the hunter, the predator. George lived for moments like these. He loved changing the tides. He loved not having to fear for his life; he liked not running away like a scared bunny; he liked to force an opponent to surrender or die. Some sick satisfaction was achieved when he could force someone else into his position. But was that really the position he was in now? Wasn't he free from the constant chase? The chase had not been one of length but one of mental toll. He was mentally exhausted from Dream, but he couldn't help but gravitate towards the other. It was bothersome at best. 

The piglin's axe struck the blackstone beside George's iron-plated feet, an impious sound ringing out at the scrape of rugged, chipped gold against the stone. George restrained himself from making a strained noise and indicating his tense nervousness to the piglin brute. He used the opportunity to his advantage, disregarding his shield and wrapping both hands around the hilt of his sword, putting all of his power into his hit and stabbing into the fleshy hip of the piglin. He almost gagged at the sight of flesh peeled back from the bone of the piglin. The angered squeal of pain that the piglin reacted with only made George's heart sink further. He gritted his teeth, turning his head away, comparing himself to a butcher in an attempt to make himself feel less guilty. It was the piglin still living despite the meat that was disconnected from the bone hanging by a thread. It twisted his heart in knots. 

His guilt wasn't played with and used maliciously like he would expect Dream to do if Dream were still hunting him. The piglin didn't have the capacity to use emotions to its advantage. Emotions and George's slightly unskilled handling of his shield were his main flaws during battle. Otherwise, he was good at combat. George had agility and accuracy, making up for his lack of decision-making skills by his quick thinking. George canceled out most of his faults with redeeming qualities. 

George could easily outsmart the piglin brute, dodging, and weaving with a practiced mind. He was careful to avoid the blade that occasionally swung his way. He was attempting to get to the piglin's back so he could hopefully push his sword through it. He was still thoroughly disgusted by the slab of meat that lazed off the bone of the piglin's hip, getting distracted by it sometimes. He still managed to get more hits in, normal slices across the skin of the piglin. He eventually got too comfortable with the fighting style of the piglin, unsuspecting of the rush that the piglin came at him with. He was forced back into the wall of the blackstone bridge, the stone digging into his back, conjuring a wince. The piglin decided to take this moment of shock to swing its hefty axe George's way. 

The pain was unbearable. The piglin had wedged the axe in a space where it could split his skin. He shook with the impact, a cold chill shooting up his spine. He held his breath as he waited for the axe to be pulled from his skin. He didn't expect the piglin to take notice of this and push the axe further into his skin. Maybe the piglin didn't notice and instead just decided to be an absolute idiot when taking out the blade. The intrusion was unwelcome, uncomfortable pressure pushing inside of the cut skin. 

By the time the piglin had finally dislodged its axe, George was lightheaded and fully feeling the affects of blood loss. He wasn't sure how the piglin hadn't collapsed itself, more injuries pouring blood than George and bubbling up at the heat of the blackstone once hitting it. He supposed they were different species, therefore, they had different capabilities. No matter, George would win. George ignored the dizziness he was starting to experience, instead focusing on completing the work he'd done to make this piglin nothing more than bacon sizzling on the blackstone path. He managed to turn the position between them around, the piglin now backed against the bridge edge and George pinning it. 

"Not so fun, huh?" George spat out, eyes glaring at the brute with hatred. Something ugly had sparked in George when the piglin had pinned him. George wasn't expecting to have his training session interrupted by a surprising change of events. The piglin was a pig, and its brain couldn't have been big enough to comprehend the fighting tactics it had used. Randomly rushing George must have been out of the emotion of anger. That is what George pinned it on, at least. He didn't want to believe that he could be bested by a pigman.

Sinking his sword against the piglin's neck, watching the blood bead at the edge of the sword, feeling the pig writhe beneath his blade. It all felt good. He felt powerful. George wasn't power-hungry, but this high was something pleasant that he could get used to. The pig felt nothing but anger; it didn't matter whether it kept its life. George mattered. Getting back to Dream mattered. Getting the gold that sat so inviting mattered. 

With a single battle cry, louder and more broken than intended, George rammed his shoulder into the piglin and pushed his arms forward. His sword dug inside the skin of the piglin, its neck starting to gush blood as it lost its footing. George huffed, continuing to push against the piglin. For once, he thought he saw the flash of a different emotion in the piglin's eyes. _Fear_. The piglin's white eyes had scrunched in pain and _fear_. A fear that wasn't relieved until the later event of the piglin smashing into the broken netherrack pieces leftover from George's tower. George closed his eyes, unable to avoid the memory of the piglin's body flailing in the air and the genuinely petrified screech that rang out and echoed until abruptly cutting off. George's bottom lip trembled on its own when he could emotionally comprehend the tragic scene that had unfolded before his eyes. At least he hadn't seen anything beyond the smoky particles that lifted from the netherrack pile upon impact. 

Shaking the emotion and memory that relentlessly replayed in his head, George pushed himself up and away from the ledge. He wiped his arm over his head, noticing the sweat that was dripping from him. He would be soaked by the time he and Dream exited the Nether. His hair stuck to his forehead in an undesired fashion, making him feel disgusting. Pulling his own thoughts away from the dripping mess he'd become, he absentmindedly reached into his bag and pulled his pickaxe out. He started getting to work on the golden blocks, keeping an eye peeled for unwanted threats. 

-

Dream had not realized just how far George had traveled away from him until he was rushing through the crimson forest in a desperate attempt to find him. His mind raced with unbidden thoughts about what could have happened to George. He had to constantly remind himself that George was a capable man, an equal, as he tore apart weeping vines in his anguished search. He was incredibly bothered by this turn of events. He had no way to track the other, no way to know if the other was okay. What if George had died? George's body would have dispersed into tiny particles that fizzled and merged with the surrounding air. Dream would find no evidence of his death other than his bag on the floor. The thought was terrifying. 

Even more terrifying was the fragmented cry that broke out before a loud screech echoed through the desolate Nether. Dream's heart sunk, a shiver sprinting up his spine, and his mind blank. The first noise had been George. George sounded so broken and torn and overwhelmed. Dream's blood ran cold, not caring to find out what the loud noise after the cry was. He could barely collect his thoughts as he hared in the direction of George. 

His initial emotion when he realized that George had wandered off had been annoyed. He couldn't help but hound himself for thinking that George wouldn't take off in a fit of excited curiosity. This dangerous place was new to George. It was completely, suffocatingly new. Of course, there would be nothing to do but feed that curiosity and go off on his own once he didn't see Dream anymore. It wasn't like Dream held him accountable for anything. He was more worried than anything. Dream had been in the Nether multiple times, all a unique and truly irking experience. The heat, the fog, the wavering vision, the huge structures, and the interesting creatures that roamed the lands. Everything about the place was an adventure, and it was one that Dream had harbored negative feelings for. He was susceptible to getting hurt in some way when in the Nether. He just didn't want George to have to suffer through similar experiences as himself. 

So when he heard George's loud and quivering cry, a cold fear gripped his heart. A sick feeling piled in his gut, threatening to make whatever he had eaten resurface and land on the nylium beneath his feet. He would search the entire Nether to find George. He didn't care if it took forever or if he died, he would need to know that George was at least alive. If George had left him behind, that was fine. Dream wouldn't be mad, and he wouldn't blame George. Despite everything, George had let Dream be by his side. Dream owed it to George to look after him and make sure he didn't die. George would get out because George is still alive and Dream is determined to keep it that way. 

What Dream didn't expect when he arrived at the scene was the large pile of splintered netherrack. He didn't expect the wiggle some of the pieces did. He didn't expect the thing causing the wiggle to be a broad, muscled hoglin. He didn't expect the bastion. He didn't expect the way George looked over the edge of the bastion bridge. He didn't expect George, beaten and battered and bleeding, to give him a wide, triumphant smile. He didn't expect the flutter of adoration that overwhelmed him and turned his cheeks pink. He didn't expect George to yell out "let's go!" and hold several golden blocks high above his head. He didn't expect the giggle that fluttered through the air to pinpoint his heart and hold it hostage. He didn't expect George to look the most beautiful in this setting, at this time, in this way. He didn't expect his mind to scream for George and George only. 

"George!" Dream glared at the pretty figure above. Like an angel displaced in hell. "What the hell?"

"I'm sorry!" George scrambled to climb onto the ledge, a smile still spread widely over his lips. He once again raised the gold like it was a trophy of his endeavors. "But look what I got for us!"

"I see! Hang on and get away from the ledge dumbass," Dream started to build his way up to George, chuckling to himself when George whined in protest. 

"I'm capable of standing on a ledge and not falling," George called out, arguing even though he had already stepped away from the ledge. 

"Yeah, says the one who almost falls daily," Dream scoffed at the other. George made a choked, offended noise. Dream stepped to the blackstone bridge, looking down at George. The smaller was pitiful, a wreck of dried blood and sweat. Dream found him so gorgeous. The low light of the Nether did George no justice, but the glowstone near them gave him a soft yellow glow. His pale cheeks were pink from exertion and heat. God, George was otherworldly.

"Whatever," George blinked into his laugh, his eyelashes opening softly and fluttering. Dream's breath caught in his throat at the sight. _Fuck_ , why was George so _pretty_? 

Dream couldn't help himself. He reached forward and placed a hand on George's cheek. George's plush lips opened in a slightly surprised expression, eyebrows lifting to accompany his lips. Dream adored the expression, adored George. Dream tilted his head, a gentle smile invading his face. George's eyes moved sideways, away from Dream's. George's Adam's apple bobbed with the swallow he did, Dream watching the way it shifted. George's cheek pressed further into Dream's hand, the man it was a part of smiling softly as he melted into Dream's touch. Dream's eyes darted to George's closed ones, feeling the way George's deep inhale released the tension in his shoulders. Dream had a bout of overconfidence at George's response to his affection, leaning forward and placing a tender kiss on George's sweaty forehead. He was so relieved that George didn't get hurt any more than he did. 

"Did you fight the piglin brute, Georgie?" Dream asked once he pulled away from George's forehead. He didn't dare move his hand. The smaller, although shocked still, nodded his head softly. "Are you okay?"

"It was hard. The piglin got a good hit on some exposed skin," George sighed deeply, eyebrows furrowing as though he was disappointed in himself. Dream didn't want George to be disappointed in a victory.

"You did amazing. The brutes are a lot harder than dealing with regular piglins. They hit harder too," Dream rubbed his thumb along George's cheek to comfort him. "I'm proud."

"You don't have to lie just because I'm putty in your hand Dreamie," George's eyes fluttered open, a teasing smirk playing across his lips. His eyes had a playful glint that Dream enjoyed viewing so close. 

"I'm not lying. You did really good," Dream made sure his voice carried his sincerity. George giggled, removing himself from Dream's hand. 

"Okay. Thank you," George smiled softly. "I'm glad you aren't mad about the whole taking off without you thing," George fiddled with his fingers. 

"I was just worried," Dream sighed. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Sappy," George clicked his tongue. 

"Only for you," Dream grabbed George's hands and pulled him closer. George resisted the pull, playful glint returning to his eyes. 

"Whatever you say, Dreamie," George wiggled his way away from Dream. "We need to loot the rest of this place in case there's anything good."

"Okay, bossy," Dream nudged George as he walked past him. "I'm taking the lead, though."

"I'm fine with that," George said, and Dream was happy to realize that George was eating and healing. They were off to loot the big bad bastion. Dream's heart felt light and happy, unlike ever before. George made him like this. He was glad it was him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not me posting this when I'm only 300 words into the current chapter (fourteen) LOL  
> This chapter sucked :[  
> I wrote most of it pretty badly,, idk what happened. Some of it is okay but most of it is not, 'm sorry. I think I wrote the others better. I'm unsure, it's been a little bit since I've seen these chapters and read through them.


	11. el even

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ah yes, hotter than hell, let's hear it."
> 
> "You," Dream's mischievous grin stretched into a suggestive smirk. George's mind flatlined, going blank before it came back full force. His face flared with even more heat than it had from the dry air hugging him uncomfortably. His throat tightened with unspoken words of affection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha,, I totally have chapter fourteen written more than before,,, totally and completely,,,, ha  
> hope you enjoy the chappy! <3 let's see if I can write more of chapter fourteen now lol

"It's so _hot_ ," a whine parted George's lips, his feet kicking at the netherrack pebbles that littered the ground. He watched as Dream threw his head back and let out a chuckle, fire not only around him but building in his stomach as well. Dream was confusing. Dream was a dangerous kind of person, a man out for blood. He was one that liked to destroy, but he was also one of the most gentle people George had known. The way he softly grazed George's face with his thumb as his mask angled towards him, the black smiley face looking the most inviting it ever has, had George's mind and body paralyzed and his heart going haywire. Dream was captivating but withdrawn. He was touchable yet so imperceptible to the touch. He was within his view yet so wavering in his vision. George couldn't properly identify what Dream wanted, and he couldn't have a clear opinion without Dream doing yet another thing to skew it. 

"It's not _that_ hot," Dream snorted, turning his head to look at George. George narrowed his eyes at the taller, disagreement heavy in his gaze. 

"It's literally hell Dream," George shook his arms to try and get some air to cool himself off. He got another small chuckle out of Dream with his words, making even the hottest temperatures worth living through. A mischievous grin found its way onto Dream's face, enough to get George's head swirling. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I just thought of something hotter," Dream casually shrugged his shoulders. George looked at where Dream was heading, just in case there were any dangers up ahead. He didn't need Dream taken out by a stream of lava or for Dream to go swimming in one of the large lava lakes that George has seen. Once George saw that it was a straight shot for a little longer, he turned back to Dream with a questioning expression.

"Ah yes, hotter than hell, let's hear it."

"You," Dream's mischievous grin stretched into a suggestive smirk. George's mind flatlined, going blank before it came back full force. His face flared with even more heat than it had from the dry air hugging him uncomfortably. His throat tightened with unspoken words of affection. 

"Shut the hell up," George ran a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide the smile that adorned his face. Whether Dream noticed or not, he was unsure because the other showed no signs. The only thing that was telling was a fond smile. 

"Truth too hard to accept, Georgie?" Dream was facing forward again, talking with an amused inflection to his voice. George ignored the words, walking ahead of Dream. Dream scoffed, grabbing George's arm when the older tried to pass. "You stay behind me," the words were a demand with no room for discussion. George felt an unprovoked affinity grow buoyant in his chest at the implied protectiveness of Dream's statement. 

"Yes, sir," George saluted the other in an attempt to joke. He thinks Dream slightly appreciated the light-heartedness of it. Maybe it was just the way he obediently followed the other's orders with no resistance against his protective tendencies. Either way, he didn't mind. He fell into step behind Dream once again. 

"How sweet of you to listen," Dream bumped into George's shoulder playfully. George exhaled jocularly, nudging the taller back. The advantage of being shorter than Dream was the pain his shoulder could inflict on the middle of his arm. Dream's bumps were nothing but a force to push him away while George's dug into the other's arm painfully if he wanted it to. He would keep the realization in mind if he became annoyed with Dream. 

"I know, I'm the sweetest," George joked back. 

"The sweetest of us two," Dream sputtered as though George wasn't the sweetest person he had met in his entire life. George shook his head at the implication of Dream's words. 

"I am _so_ sweet," George gave Dream a genuine shove to the side. Dream barely missed a zombified piglin on his graceless stumble to the left. 

"You aren't proving your point," a pout was well-aimed, hitting George straight in the heart. "Plus, you call me an idiot _all_ the time. Not very sweet, in my opinion."

"I am the epitome of sweetness. You wouldn't know, you've been lonely for so long. That's why you like my company so much," George kept the bit up, maybe tapping into something he shouldn't have. 

"Of course, of course," Dream's voice lost its amusement. George got concerned, eyebrows furrowing as he observed his companion's hooded head. "That's the only reason..." he spoke as though George had changed his perspective. It terrified George. What if he had just convinced Dream that he meant nothing to him besides an outlet for his loneliness? What if that _was_ all that George was to him? "But I haven't actually connected with anyone I've hunted. That's a start to it being only one of the reasons I like you so much," Dream's head softly fell onto his shoulder. His head turned, giving George a view of half of his mask and the gentle smile that was on his lips. George's heart fluttered, and all of his worries subsided. He offered his own small smile, sheepish in showing his emotions. 

"That's good to know. I'm glad to be your first and last," George held himself proudly. He wanted Dream to be confident in what they were doing. He wanted Dream to believe that they could beat the Ender Dragon. He wanted Dream to have confidence in both of their abilities to win. 

"Confident I see," Dream smirked, George's aura of certitude rubbing off on him. 

"Only with good reason," George broke his stare on Dream's mouth, moving his gaze forward. He got a glimpse of new land and tugged Dream's cloak. The masked man instantly stopped in his tracks, turning to George in confusion. "There's a new place ahead."

"It's okay, George, I've been in Soul Sand Valleys before," Dream attempted to put George at ease. 

"But I haven't. I trust you, but I like to see stuff for myself. Explain what the Soul Sand Valley is, please."

"Okay. Soul Sand Valleys are biomes of the Nether where the land is comprised of soul sand and soul soil. Soul sand slows you down, but soul soil doesn't. You can tell the difference between them because soul sand is terrifying. Soul sand has visible souls trapped inside of it, and you can hear them wailing if you listen close enough," Dream walked over to the new biome as he spoke on the matter, pointing out the dark material under his combat boots. George followed him, and he motioned to the soul sand. George blankly stared at the sand, listening closely. He could see the agonized souls trapped between the grains, reaching out with pained wails. They were immobile, but their screams spoke enough for their lack of action. It was as if they were petrified into the grains, stuck within forever. George could only imagine looking from their perspective. He could imagine that it felt like being in a never-ending hourglass raining down sand when there was barely any room left in the bottom glass. Struggling to find something to grip while you were being buried alive, lost in time. Banging on the glass and yelling out for release to no avail. Forever becoming engraved in the sand with an expression that could haunt the bravest of souls. George wanted to help them, but he knew there was no use. These souls were trapped until the end of the Nether. Knowing didn't stop his gut from churning with guilt. It felt wrong to gaze down at the hurting souls without being able to free them from their ailing. Dream stood up and pointed further into the biome at a large white structure. George couldn't distinguish what it was. "Large bones are also found in the Soul Sand Valley. I don't know what left them, but nothing that big has existed in the Nether for as long as I've traveled through it."

"Those are _bones_?" George asked incredulously. The white ribs were humongous. "It looks like a whale skeleton."

"Whale?" Dream tilted his head to make up for his hidden questioning expression. George's face scrunched up at that.

"You don't know what a whale is?" George was flabbergasted. How many creatures were not in this peculiar world? They didn't have a commonly known sea mammal that is known as the hugest animal?

"It sounds relatively familiar, but the biggest thing I know of is the Ender Dragon," Dream shrugged as though he didn't just denounce the existence of a whale. 

"Your loss. There's this whale named the _sperm whale_ ," George giggled like an immature child, and Dream was no exception.

" _What_?" Dream's laugh came as the ridiculous wheeze. If a lung were a whoopie cushion, the noise that Dream was making would be the noise it made when pressed. "Why would they name it that?"

"I don't know, but I told you, didn't I? You're missing out," George took in Dream's laughing appearance with tenderness. He was adorable when he laughed as if he had just witnessed the funniest thing in his life.

"You did tell me," Dream shook his head, filled with humor. "Anyway, the monsters in this biome to look out for are ghasts and skeletons." 

"What the hell are ghasts? Also, why did skeletons have to follow me to hell?" George let his disappointment overtake his features. Skeletons were his least favorite creature he had met. He was sure of it. They were void of anything other than the passion to be an annoying fuck. They constantly dodged and weaved to get away from whoever they were fighting while shooting incessantly. 

"Ghasts shoot fireballs. I'm not entirely sure what they are, but they're pretty big, and they scream. You'll know a ghast when you see one, or better yet, when you hear one," Dream seemed to scrunch his nose at the thought of ghasts if his mask rising was any indication. "Skeletons just want to keep up their reputation for being the worst."

"Okay, so ghasts are essentially just as annoying as skeletons," George let a sigh shake his chest. The Nether was just the worst. 

"Pretty much," Dream offered a hopeless smile. Another sigh greeted him in return. 

Having been briefed on the Soul Sand Valley (the blue fire too, soul fire. Dream described it as some possible reaction between the souls and fire), they ventured into the ghostly cavern of the valley. The fog here was a murky, almost grey color. It plagued the air and obscured the vision of the outstretching soul variants making up the ground. Everything in the valley held a lost, mourning aura. The harrowing ambience that the biome emanated made George's spine feel as though it was crawling. There was a dull echo of grievous chants calling out their apologies, begging for liberation. The huge skeleton remnants told of a creature no longer existing, a thing that ceased to be. They warned of danger and the endless cycle of souls getting swept away into the deathly sands of the biome. Even with the blue fire that George assumed alluded to even warmer temperatures, the Soul Sand Valley was chilling compared to the rest of the Nether. He had a feeling that the soul fire was no hotter than normal fire. 

"It's creepy," George felt his body shiver involuntarily. Dream seemed to share the same sentiment, mask gazing out into the vast stretch of soul-wrenching dullness. His stance adverted to the internal workings of his mind, legs and body stiff, arms defensively held. He was angled in front of George, safeguarding him from whatever horrors he believed they would run into. 

"It is. Be careful in here and stay by my side this time, okay?" Dream looked towards George, breaking his conflicted stare with the threatening souls of the valley. George could tell he was serious and full of loyalty. George should return that. 

"I will," George nodded as soon as he spoke, head bobbing eagerly to show how earnest he was. Dream took to this response well, smiling down at George. 

"Thank you," he offered a soft touch to George's side. Dream's love language was probably touch. It's not the proper moment to be pondering his love language though, George needed to focus on the task at hand. They needed to navigate through the Soul Sand Valley and search further for a fortress.

They took off in a random direction, hoping for a large structure to emerge from the fog the further they went. They crept past the skeletons that lurked with rattling bones that would give away their position in any situation. Dream went through the trouble of showing George everything about the biome, taking him between long-forgotten ribcages and pulling him under soul sand arches. They were frolicsome in their adventures of the biome, battling the wails with laughs and shoves. The mood was never serious unless they ran into a skeleton and needed to get by it. A few times, Dream would show his skills and take them down before they had a chance to retaliate. Each of those times, George reiterated how grateful he was to have Dream on his side in his head. It was almost like George was finding ways to distrust Dream. He had so easily been swayed by the other, and his mind didn't have full clarity on Dream's motives. Despite his thoughts, George was neither withdrawn nor rude to Dream. He showed Dream that he cared to have him by his side, that he was glad to have him by his side. His actions were based on heart rather than mind. 

They were nearing the end of the biome, the fog ahead mixing with another, lighter color. The other biome wasn't peeking from beneath the fog, so they would have to get closer to see it come into view. They had grown quiet, no longer playfully traversing the souls that muffled under their weight. George didn't know what to expect, and Dream was dreading the next biome he knew would appear. A biome heavily guarded by arguably one of the more dangerous species of the Nether. They were going to tiptoe along the boundaries and most likely turn around empty-handed and bridging over a lava lake. 

George looked on in fearful anticipation, slightly dreading the new biome but also slightly excited. Adventuring with Dream, George realized halfway into their Nether expedition, was fun. George felt exhilarated the more they encountered, and he felt undeniably safe. He knew that Dream would have his back no matter the situation. Dream chased after his childish enthusiasm endlessly, and he couldn't be more grateful. Dream came rushing in a panicked flurry the minute he noticed that George was out of his sight, an oddly endearing tell of his protectiveness. George would never shut down the small affections that Dream made sure reached him in one way or another. They were treading along the line of friendship and something a little more dangerous. George pitted it to loneliness on both of their parts. Dream had given no chances to anyone before George, and George wasn't used to being this alone in uncommon territories. Something tells him that he would have had someone with him. 

The biome was entering their field of vision, the fog dissipating, fleeing from their prying eyes like a scared ghost. Volcanic ash rained from the air, delicate petals of powdery residue telling of burning destruction. A multitude of high-reaching towers of volcanic rock stretched as far as the eye could see, no other biome close by. There was lava dotting the lands under the towers, a dangerous implication of ceaseless possibilities of death. The towers of rock edged in trickily slim points that referred to the drooping netherrack rooftop. The Nether had a roof that always hinted at a threat of being squashed to death. The roof always displayed precarious placement that looked to be hanging downward limply, weighed down by itself to the point of near destruction. The towers that pointed out the obvious anxiety-inducing roof were threatening without the insinuation of a roof caving in above them. They extended to the roof, confident in their slim and dangerous structure. They were not desperate to reach the roof; they were prepared for the inevitable meeting upon the roof's demise. They knew that they were not going to reach the roof before it tore from its walls and met them in a kiss of crumbling death. The confidence in their height was intimidating, domineering if you will. They shadowed over the ground surrounding them, and the two boys now intruding on that land. 

"This looks like one big death trap," George shifted on his feet. If Dream's height was enough to frighten him, you could only imagine the things the towers were doing to the pit in his stomach. 

"It can be if you let it," Dream said nonchalantly, to reassure George wasn't sure. The masked man turned to him, pointing one finger to the sky. "That's precisely the reason why we simply won't let it."

"Oh, yes, so easy to avoid a death trap expanding out into the horizon," George gave Dream a noncommittal glare. "How could I not realize it? All in a day's work, I suppose."

"Exactly, Georgie," Dream stated matter-of-factly, blatantly ignoring the sarcasm George had infused in his words. "I'm here to make sure you make it out. All in a day's work."

"Good for you that I'm watching your back too then," George refused to meet the black dotted eyes that only fueled his need to snatch Dream's mask off of his face if only to see his emotions. Seeing his face would be a nice addition. Fully connecting with the enigma he had befriended. He couldn't understand why Dream was so adamant about George making it out regardless of whether he died. George would go down with him if push came to shove. They were in this together, until the end. 

"Good for me..." Dream's voice prompted George to look over at him. It was so soft, so contemplative, so affectionate. The realness of the emotions connected when George got to see the gentle smile Dream was looking down at his hands with. The expression tugged at his heartstrings, melodies bouncing around like butterflies, gently drifting and tickling his stomach. It was always unexpected when Dream's voice pitched down into a gentle caress of syllables that had the power to tug at him whole-heartedly. It was an unexpected addition of pleasure. 

"Now, tell me about this biome," George brought Dream back out of his stupor of contemplation. The masked man stared at him for a second before he seemed to jump with recognition at the words. George snickered at the other before his lips fell into a soft grin. 

"Oh yeah... um," Dream sheepishly ran a hand along the back of his hood. "This is a Basalt Delta, as you can see from the excess amount of basalt. There's also a lot of blackstone here. We have to be really careful in this biome. We can't play around at a leisurely pace as we did in the Soul Sand Valley. A mob that spawns here is the magma cube. They can jump pretty high, and some are huge. They can jump out of lava, and they are like the frogs of the Nether. They can live in the lava or on the land. When you hit them a certain number of times, depending on how big they are, they split into a lot of tiny versions of themselves. The smaller they are, the less damage they do, and the fewer hits it takes to kill them. The basalt towers can get dangerous to travel the tops of because the magma cubes can knock you between the pillars, and more often than not, there is lava there. Ash falls from the sky and can get annoying and stick to you. Just stay close to me in this biome as well, and we should make it out."

"Okay, I'll do that," George nodded his head to affirm this. 

They started their trek into the new biome, ash instantly starting to coat them. It reminded George of snow if snow held no cold properties. He wished the ash could have miraculously been snow, a relief in the hot Nether. He did briefly wonder if they could make an impression on the ash that coated the floor, similar to snow angels. He pushed the thought away quickly when there was a slimy slosh against the floor. George's head snapped to the noise to see a gigantic cube of magma. Two blazing eyes were emphasized by the furling crusted magma that made up its body. The magma was still liquid-remnant, an ardent fury of bright golden light. The captivating nature of the magma kept George's attention, his eyes licking at the glow with interest. 

"Shit!" Dream harshly seized George's hand, tugging him in the direction of the basalt towers. George couldn't help but remain entranced, eyes widening in surprise at the way the magma curled in on itself, eyes lighting with more fire before it was launched in the air high above the two running bodies that seemed feeble compared to such an alight beast. "Pick up your feet!"

George did as told, turning his attention to Dream instead of the dangerous ball of heat flying through the air. It had looked so weightless in flight as if the magma was as light as a feather. George was still tripping over his feet when Dream surged forward and pushed him ahead, crashing into a pillar. His eyes had shut closed on impact, a prickle running over the places that had smashed into the basalt. When his eyes cracked open again, he was frozen with a new fear. This fear was tied to Dream, but for the first time, it was not a fear of him, but a fear for him. He felt sick as he watched Dream's body that was so small in comparison to the magma crashing towards him from out of the sky. He saw the braced legs of the other and saw as Dream pulled his shield out and angled it towards the sky. George wanted to cry out for the other when he noticed what was happening. Dream was going to let himself be smothered in the magma, the magma that had the velocity of gravity on its side. Dream was going to let it fall on top of him with only a shield over him. Dream was doing this because George had stumbled too much, and they couldn't get far enough away. Dream was so close, but George wouldn't reach him in time. Dream was where George would have been. 

Hopeless.

George was hopelessly helpless to what was happening in front of him. He was helpless when Dream disappeared with a sickening crunch of splintering wood, the magma flowing over the two sides of the shield and fully encompassing his partner. A choked yell split the air, clawing its way out of George's throat before he could think of possible consequences. He felt like he was being strangled. He couldn't breathe when he knew that Dream could be dead. Dream could be out of existence so easily. It was hard to fathom that Dream was just as vulnerable to death as he was. Before, Dream had seemed like such a phantasmic force. Dream was something of illusion that could not be harmed by anything. That vision of him was destroyed in a short span of time. He could be dead. 

The magma cube dared to sit there and stare aggressively into George's crisp panic-stricken eyes. His heart ceased its beating, his chest feeling like it would collapse. He couldn't make it without Dream. Dream couldn't die because of a cube of magma that had enticed George's eyes. George couldn't be a factor in Dream's death. It wasn't fair. Why had he looked at the magma cube so long? Why had he continuously tripped over his feet? Why couldn't he have followed a simple order? Why couldn't he have _picked up his damn feet_?

A sizzling noise kicked up from where the magma cube was, the thing squinting its eyes in response. George's eyes raced around the magma, desperately searching for a change on the outer, slightly solidified rock. He wanted to see a sword pierce through the outer layer. He needed to see something happen, something indicating that Dream was still alive. There was no way Dream would go out in this way. Dream was stronger than this. Stronger than this mediocre death by magma cube. Stronger than this sacrifice. 

The splintering of wood returned to his ears. He was on the verge of a breakdown or a scalding rage that would lead to him tearing the magma cube apart piece by piece until he could see for himself whether Dream was gone. The magma cubes eyes were growing brighter like it was heating its insides. George fumbled with his bag, slipping his sword into his grasp. If Dream was still in there, it was time to intervene. A minute ago was a good time to intervene. 

He rushed the magma cube, slicing across its surface. He had looked inside of the magma to look for Dream, but there was nothing but gold glowering back at him. He wanted to scream. 

It was sudden, the exploding of the magma cube. It split into four smaller versions of itself, thrown away from where Dream had been standing before he was hidden from view. _Where is he_? 

George's vision blurred, his heart raced, his stomach churned. He was angry. He was so immeasurably pissed. In a fit of rage, he started stabbing the medium cubes full force. He barely flinched when the hot magma scorched his skin, head full of nothing but Dream. Dream who was so surprisingly gentle with him. Dream who had earned his trust so steadily. Dream who had earned his place in the world. Dream who shouldn't be dead. Dream who had given his life for George. Dream whose smile was enough to brighten George's day. Dream who was supposed to be with George until the end. Together until the end. _The end is bullshit_.

George's thoughts were bitter, but more so were his hits. He struck the remaining magma cubes with a heavy hand and sharp blade. His insides were boiling with a deep-seated hatred for the little bastards. They weren't deserving of the light inside of their eyes. They needed to fizzle away into the dry air just as Dream had. His smoke couldn't mingle with the air or meet the fleeting fog. The magma cube's burning body had smothered out his smoke. Relentless hits ensued until nothing was left of the magma except a single dollop of cream. Smoke fizzled around him, a sight that made him grit his teeth and slap it away bitingly. 

George's hand was clutching at his sword tightly, his arm shaking with the exertion. Dream wasn't dead. Dream was alive. 

He felt a burn behind his eyes and in his throat. He wasn't going to _cry_. He _wasn't going to cry_. He wasn't going to cry. He looked down at his arms, covered in sweltering blisters. He couldn't find it in himself to care about the risen, stinging skin.

Warmth enveloped him, and for a second, he thought another magma cube had come and swallowed him up too. But, a breath of warm air brushed over his neck, tentative and fragile, shaking. George's stomach twisted in knots. Breathing meant living. An armored chest was brushed against his back, black-sleeved arms wrapped around his waist. It was such a memorable feeling. It was the feeling of Dream pushing against him from behind. This time it was different. Dream was holding him, but he wasn't holding him in a suffocating, trapping way. He was holding him with affection and tenderness. He was holding him like they were seeing each other for the first time in a while. He was holding him, and he didn't hurt anymore. He wasn't bitter anymore. _Dream is alive_. 

"It's okay, Georgie, I'm here," Dream tightened his grip on George as if that would confirm that he was still there, still alive. It did. George's head leaned back into Dream's chest, his eyes closing and nose inhaling Dream's burnt scent. He smelled like a campfire. That wasn't what Dream normally smelled like. Dream usually had an earthy smell, a scent of pine. That tree smell was burning like wood in a fireplace. It was comforting, nonetheless. 

"You're okay," George breathed out, his words wavering with his previous anger. "You're alive."

"I'm alive," Dream tucked his masked face in George's shoulder. George leaned his head against Dream's, the feeling of soft hair grazing his cheek. 

"Promise?" George opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side to look at Dream. He might have caught the slightest glimpse of Dream's eye. Dream's eye that was looking right at him. Dream pushed his mask sideways as if he could feel George's gaze connect with his. George was content with a sneak peek. He was content now that Dream was here. 

"I promise," Dream's voice was soft, so reassuring. George found comfort in the words, grasped at them subconsciously. George placed his hands on Dream's, exploring the exposed skin with his fingertips. He ran them along Dream's fingertips, his nails, his calluses, his scars, and blistering skin. 

They sat there, holding each other in the very edge of the Basalt Delta, paying attention to nothing but themselves. George had dwindled his research down to a soft, repeating graze of his fingers over Dream's. Dream was doing the same, rubbing his finger in a comforting circle on George's wrist. They were sitting in silence, relishing in the fact that they were both alive. Alive and in each other's arms. 

Once they were calm, George spoke softly. "What happened?" 

"I pushed you out of the way because you were going to get hurt. I luckily got my shield out in time, and I was able to block the hit and the magma cube from burning me. The magma cube was way too heavy, though. I couldn't push it off like I originally planned to. I had to dig down and block the spot above me. I'm sorry I didn't come out sooner. I was struggling to put out the fire on my shield and hood," Dream squeezed George gingerly. 

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're alive," George pushed his nose into the tuft of hair that was brushing his cheek. The hair was a light brown in the lighting of the Nether. "Don't try to sacrifice your life for me. There's no way I can make it out without you. Next time we either get away together or go down together, okay?"

"I can't promise anything, but anytime I can get us out together, I will."

"That's good enough for now," George sighed before pulling away from Dream's embrace. 

The two got up from the ground and started to move through the Basalt Delta. It was mutually the worst biome the two agreed once George had fumbled on a jump and landed with his bottom half dangling over the edge and lava licking at his shoes. Dream was quick to pull him up and instantly get knocked down into the hole behind them when a magma cube smashed down into his side. George had rushed over to see that Dream had saved himself by throwing a piece of cobblestone a few inches above the lava at the bottom. George had sighed in relief before getting thrown into the hole himself, Dream saving him as well by placing another cobblestone above the other slot. They cursed the fat magma cube, giggling at their insults before trying to dig through to the next pillar. Lava had flowed from the mined block, Dream pulling them both onto a piece of cobblestone above the other two and above the lava's path. 

Eventually, they had explored the Basalt Delta and had to regrettably turn around, heading for the lava lake George had seen as the only way before he had found the bastion. The lava lake that George dreaded heading across on the thin bridge Dream would inevitably build. That dread would carry on to the lava lake, he knew. Dream was aware of the dread, obvious in the way he looked down at George, radiating an apologetic aura. 

They would deal with his dread when the time came to cross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bOO hi  
> glad you could make it to this fine website and read this chapter <3  
> I will give you a big smooch if you tell me your opinions on it and give me the goods,,, feedback I mean ;)  
> anyways,, me = sleepy, might have to skip on writing more for the night :[


	12. twe lve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They had found the Nether Fortress_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos!! Thank you all so much 🥺  
> I adore you all <3 here's a chapter in celebration :)  
> I am almost done with chapter fourteen LOL I am trying my best 🙃

George was panicking just as much as when he had to watch Dream get encased in magma. He was staring at the lava ahead of them with a blank expression, avoiding the panic he was feeling trickling into his facial features. George knew that Dream knew he was panicking. He knew that Dream was aware of the fear etched in his mind. He knew that Dream was trying his best to reassure him. But Dream's attempts were futile, a small grace of nothingness. Dream couldn't calm him down when Dream would be risking his life to bridge over lava. _Lava_. Dream could have a near-death experience _again_. So close to the time before. But, who was George to stop him? They had to get across the lava somehow. 

He tugged his lip between his teeth, his chin shaking as he watched Dream start to build out. He was standing diagonally, keeping a steady pace that wasn't too fast nor too slow. George knew that this was not a usual pace for Dream. He could tell by the way Dream's fingers clutched the material in his hand. He had a grip that was lax and unconcentrated. He was holding the blocks in his hands as though he wasn't building across a steaming, popping lake of boiling semifluid rock. Another indication that Dream wasn't going at his regular pace was his constant look thrown towards George. He would place three to five bundles worth of material and then look up at George. George's heart couldn't handle it between being on a thin bridge above certain death and Dream's gazes of comfort; he was afraid of a heart attack.

George never let his eyes leave Dream as he got them closer to their first break point. There were islands of netherrack between the original land they were leaving and the new land they were straining to reach.

Little creatures littered the lava, sturdy legs that seemed endless reaching into it. They were a weird reddish color, and they had patches of grey rock dotting their bodies. George assumed that their rock layer on their legs protected them from the molten lava angrily trying to burn whoever enters. They weren't the cutest of creatures, looking slightly like an old, tired man in their face. They had back whiskers of a white variant that reached long behind their head, something George wondered what the purpose was. The creatures looked grumpy, a permanent frown on their face and a strongly furrowed forehead. The view of the animal was baffling, but at the same time, they were endearing. They were kind of cute with their stubby bodies and grumpy look. It was like a blobfish in that respect. 

"What are the names of the little guys chilling in the lava?" George questioned, observing Dream to make sure he stopped adding on to their bridge before he answered. The man seemed to read George's mind and his concern, stopping everything he was doing to turn to the creatures. A small smile formed on Dream's lips at the sight of them. Did Dream look at _him_ like that too?

"Those are striders. They get cold out of lava and shiver pretty badly. They also turn this weird purple color. They're kind of ugly, aren't they?" despite the nature of the question, Dream was still looking at them with a fond smile. Maybe George didn't want that smile directed at him if it was towards the striders' ugliness. 

"A little. I think they're kind of cute though," George also spared the striders a fond smile. They looked cozy and natural in their element. 

" _You_ are cute," Dream pointed at George before directing his finger to the striders. George battled the blush that was overheating his cheeks. "Those are not."

"Why are you looking at them like that if they're so ugly?" George raised an eyebrow at the other man. 

"Like what? I didn't say they were _so_ ugly either I said _kind of_ ," Dream refuted by reiterating his earlier statement. Dream crossed his arms, cocking a hip to the side.

"You had a fond smile on your face," George mirrored Dream's stance, crossing his arms and cocking his hip.

"What? You jealous, Georgie?" Dream smirked at him. George rolled his eyes in response. 

"I'm not jealous of an ugly-cute creature. I don't necessarily think you'd jump down there and shower it in kisses," Dream's stance faltered at this, his arms uncrossing and his torso leaning forward in interest.

"So you want me to _shower you_ in _kisses_?" Dream's smirk gained a playful spark. George felt incredibly stupid and now wanted to retract his statement. 

"No! _No_ ," George's voice was strong enough to be believable, but his unnecessary restatement made it seem like he was trying to convince himself of it. Dream could see through him. "Just- ugh- _whatever_."

"Just what, _George_?" Dream was toying with him, teasing him until he wanted to curl up into a ball. He was doing an extraordinary job. George was about ready to let himself fall off the edge of the bridge out of embarrassment. 

"Just nothing, _Dream_ ," George took a shaky inhale. He couldn't believe the conversation they were having. 

"Whatever you say," Dream brought his hands up and dared to form a heart with them. George glared at him and his stupid heart. 

"Yeah, I did say whatever," George sassed, waving his hand as if that would get Dream to withdraw his heart. 

"Oh ho ho, you little smartass," Dream shook his head, voice lowering towards the end of his sentence. The tone he was using made George's heart skip several beats and rapidly beat simultaneously. He started to feel faint. _What the hell? That's embarrassing_.

"I think you mean fine ass," George willed himself to smirk instead of revealing the emotions that were raging in his insides. Dream chuckled at this, low and smooth and unhelpful to George's internal wildfire. 

"I think I meant smartass, but you drive a hard bargain," George could almost feel the eyes that traced and lingered over his body. He had a strong desire to hide from the piercing eyes, but he forced himself to keep from doing so. 

"Maybe you should drive your hard bargain to the end of the bridge and get to work," George no longer felt as panicked as he had at the start of their venture over the vast lava lake. It was now apparent that their banter helped remove his mind from worry. 

"So bossy," Dream held his hands up as a form of surrender, pulling his netherrack out once he finished with his dramatics. 

"So dramatic," George returned the gesture, holding his own hands up by his head. He noticed Dream's mask angle upwards towards him before it moved side to side with the shake of Dream's head. A smirk placed itself on George's lips with the sight. 

George may have had a moment of calm, but the storm in his mind returned once Dream continued working on the bridge. He watched the other place netherrack onto the end with bated breath, hands shaking by his sides. He wanted to grab Dream and pull him into his arms where it was safe, and Dream's life wasn't in danger of fiery boiling death. George would trade the angelic glow illuminating Dream's visible features if it meant his safety was prioritized. His concern for the other led to his lips demise, leaving them swollen and bleeding from the constant gnawing his teeth subconsciously did. Dream's momentary glances died down to quite a few, and that didn't reassure George in the slightest. He didn't know what to do with his hands. They felt foreign, constricted to his body uncomfortably. They wouldn't calm their jitters, and George had to start twiddling the feather he uses to write letters to Dream. It was a calming reassurance that Dream was connected to him, if only by words. But Dream was in front of him. Dream was bridging and in invariable danger. 

He needed to focus on something else. He took a harsh breath in, an action that got Dream to spare him a glance. He almost felt bitter that only _that_ would elicit a reaction. Why had Dream stopped checking to see if he was okay every few paces? George was very clearly, not well.

George turned his head away, not wanting his bitter emotions to consume him. He looked down the already constructed bridge behind him, and only then did he realize that this is something he should have done multiple times before this moment. To his horror, the hoglin that was way too big for the bridge to be supporting was hurdling towards the two of them with unnatural speed. He had half a mind to call out to Dream, but he reminded himself that he was a capable man who has somewhat taken down a hoglin by himself. He pulled his sword out and stared the hoglin in its fearless, white eyes. The closer the hoglin got, the more the bridge underfoot trembled. George started to fear the possibility of the bridge breaking. Maybe he should have told Dream. 

With no time to think on it, lest he allows Dream and himself to fall into the lava after the bridge broke, he ran at the hoglin. It would be easy for the hoglin to scoop George into its tusks and throw him to the side into a burning death, but it didn't have the mental capacity to go through with such a plan. George pushed off of the ground, launching himself into the air above the hoglin. The harshness of the dry air rushing against his face and eyes had him blinking wildly on his dissent on the hoglin. Its thick neck constricted its movement and view, working in George's favor. He didn't have an extra high jump or a back-breaking strike, but he still managed to bring his sword down through the back of the hoglin's neck. If you find a weak spot, manipulate it.

"George!" the call was panic-stricken and scolding. George paid barely any attention, focusing on the task at hand. He needed to either throw this hoglin off the side of the bridge or make it disappear in a fizzle of smoke.

The hoglin was seething. George had implanted his sword in its neck firmly enough for him to hold onto it like it was a designated handle. The stab displeased the hoglin beneath him that had the unfortunate fate of a sword lodged in its neck. The world felt like it was twirling as he was shaken in jagged movements by the hoglin. George had not thought about the size difference between himself and the hoglin, his feet dangling dangerously above the netherrack. His knuckles begun to turn white with his death-grip on the sword handle. The hoglin threw its head up, throwing George into the air. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have plummeted hopelessly and been forced to succumb to the torturous death of burning alive in lava. The only reason this did not occur was George's grasp on his sword. When the hoglin threw him into the air, his wrists twisted painfully, his body flying over his sword until his back finally made contact with the hoglin's spine. His vision was nothing more than a blur of dull colors until making his shattering junction with the hoglin. His sword was dislodged from the hoglin's meaty neck on his trip through the air, almost causing him to tumble down its side and into the lava. Battling on a one-by-one bridge of netherrack never seemed so petrifying as it was at that moment.

" _George_!" Dream's scream this time was one of pure concern and horror. Witnessing what just happened from the outside was something George could only imagine took a toll on the outsider's heart. It took a toll on his own heart. He felt lightheaded and very close to fainting. 

"Hanging in there!" George grunted out, slipping off of the hoglin's backside. He ran a few paces forward just in case the hoglin could kick him. The hoglin didn't bother turning to find George, this time aggroing on the man on the other side. "Dream!"

"Shut up and get off the bridge!" Dream's voice echoed over the hoglin's angry grunt. George could take off down the bridge to safety. He could ignore what was happening to Dream and take off in the opposite direction. He could, but George is no coward. George wouldn't comply with Dream's self-destructive commands. 

Being the brave soul he is, George ran back over to the hoglin, readying his sword for a substantial hit. Dream was unaware of such shenanigans on the other side of the hoglin. If he had been, there would be hell to pay for George and the hoglin. Most likely the hoglin first. George couldn't find it in himself to care, bringing his sword down with as much force as he could muster. The hoglin squealed a guttural, distressed sound in response to the hungry blade's bite. George almost yelled triumphantly, a scream of battle, but his bellow dissipated before it surfaced. The hoglin whipped around, knocking its head directly into George's side in an aching slam. George's hands reacted on their own, wrapping fingers around tusks as a fight-or-flight response. The hoglin went through with its three-sixty drive-by, spinning back around to Dream's side. George felt his body jerk, stomach flopping at the sight of the lava stretched far below. Dream was less than amused at the sight of George being thrown around like a ragdoll. If anyone was going to treat him like a ragdoll, it would be him. 

"Holy shit!" George yelped out a string of anxious curses when his body was jolted over the lava again by the hoglin. It seemed to know what it was doing, eyeing Dream out of the corner of its malicious, glowering eyes. George swallowed hard, shutting his eyes and further tightening his grip on the hoglin's tusks. He wouldn't be able to hold on much longer, hands progressively cramping up. If his hands didn't give out because of the cramps, they would slip off with how clammy they were growing. George's hands were already slick with sweat but adding a high-stress situation to the mix was no help. The ivory under his fingers was chipped, smoothness worn down from years of corruption. George's skin pinched against the ridges, small, bloody pricks forming in retaliation. 

George wondered what Dream would do in the situation. No matter how many times Dream has shown his thoughtfulness in multiple different scenarios, George didn't know what he could do in the situation. George was being dangled over the edge of the bridge, the lava glaring threateningly, popping and hissing with excitement. Dream was tall, and his shoulders were broad, but those features did little when matched with a hoglin. Dream couldn't tackle it. It might not die from one hit. It might shake George once more and have him fall from its tusks like a trembling autumn leave that falls from its tree in death. _Fuck_ , what would Dream _do_?

"Why didn't you _listen_?" Dream fumed, words pinched and upset. 

"Not the time to scold me," George tried to pull himself up to lay on the hoglin's wrinkly nose, failing with conviction. Instead of auspicious ease off his arms, the hoglin threw its head abruptly, and George's hands slipped further down its tusks. He let out a bawl as more weight went into his arms. He wasn't going to be able to hold himself up much longer. At this rate, he would plunge and become nothing but bones in mere minutes. 

George wasn't ready to die. At no point in his delve into this new world has he been prepared to die. He wasn't going to cry—there was no use in capitulating to tears. He needed to be sinewy and show his faith in Dream and Dream's strategy. He _was_ putting all of his faith into the outwardly ruthless masked man. He would either live or die at his decision. It wouldn't be Dream's fault if he died; it would be his own. He decided not to run away when Dream told him to. He resolved to stay and try his hand at defending Dream. The tables were turned on him, and it was entirely his fault. Dream was just the unlucky son of a bitch that had to mend his blunders. 

"There's never _not_ a time to scold you," Dream hissed, words encapsulating all the disappointment he felt towards George at that moment. 

Maybe it was the high-tense situation he was in, but George exhaled in a sweet, half-disappointed laugh. He was incoherent on adrenaline and anticipation. Perhaps his emotions were fried, or maybe he was a little emotionless, but he didn't _feel_ anything. He was simply void of coherent thoughts. It was as though he was an electronic being shut down. 

He didn't know if Dream noticed this, but that was the time he chose to act. He rushed forward in a skilled fashion, wielding his axe above his head. The mask stared at the hoglin with dismay, tilted in a rather harsh style. For the first time, the mask portrayed all of Dream's emotions. For the first time, George could see _Dream_. Dream was emotional. Dream expressed his emotions. Dream was expressive. 

Dream showed the inner rage he felt. He showed the protective glare of his and George's relationship. He showed passion in his actions. He warned of danger with his unequivocally profligate body language. His body was bellicose, coiled like a snake preparing to strike with as much force as it could marshal. George was safe from the destructive hoglin so long as Dream was there to help. Dream would catch him if he fell. 

George's hands slid down the hoglin's tusks further, pulling him closer to the menacing eyes of white. He blankly stared into the eyes of the hoglin, fearing that if he looked at Dream, he would freak out. Whatever Dream did was out of his hands. He would either live or die, and that was okay. He could live (or die) with that. 

Dream would save him. 

Did he believe that?

_Yes_. 

Indefinitely. 

A deathly squeal of agony met his thoughts. The eyes that were once looking back into his maliciously were fading from existence. The constant pressure against his sweaty palms let up, and his stomach rose into his chest. He was falling. Nausea took over his senses, his mind, and stomach curling in protest. His eyes squeezed shut, his heart stopping in its tracks. The Nether felt as though it was caving in on him, twirling around him like a warped painting hanging on a wall of horrors. His insides felt like they were bumping into each other in a frantic attempt to escape his body in the hopes that they would at least stay uncooked. 

He almost called out to Dream. He almost let his panic overtake his tongue. 

Ethereal and heavenly, a robust hand wrapped around his boney wrist. His eyes shot open, meeting masked eyes, dots of black. They had never looked so emotive. They were determined, they were concerned, they were affectionate, they were warm, and they were _angry_. George wasn't sure which emotion dominated Dream's headspace, but he knew that when he was on solid ground, he was going to wish he hadn't been caught. Dream's hood had popped off of his head to reveal his glistening golden brown hair. The golden light bounding over his features, wiggling with the steam of the lava, gave him a halo of beauty. His chest heaved with heavy, uneven breaths that unmistakably originated from something other than his bare tussle with the hoglin. His mouth was set in a grimace, from catching George with one hand or from his disappointment, George wasn't sure. He was crouched, his other hand pushing against the ground with more force than he was exerting when suspending George over lava. Dream might have been hurting his other wrist by holding his weight up so that he wouldn't hurt George's wrist. Fuck Dream and his endearing tendencies. _Why was Dream so hard to read_? 

Dream grunted, shifting his weight and leaning back as he pulled George towards him. He occasionally glanced behind himself to make sure neither of them would topple off the bridge. His sturdy hands moved along George's arms to lift him more comfortably. They settled beneath his biceps, picking him up like he was a friendly stray cat. It mildly annoyed George how easily Dream raised him. In that respect, George's likeness to a cat shined brightly. George didn't have to help Dream help him up, but he felt the need to do something. He wasn't sure whether he made it easier or if he did the exact opposite. All George knew was that they were a baffling flurry of hands, arms, and legs as they strived to plant George on the bridge where he was supposed to be. 

Another thing that George knew was that as soon as his feet met the ground and his weight's burden was taken off of Dream, he was pulled into his arms. The life was compressed out of him by the crushing grasp. He found himself returning the gesture with just as much force, gripping Dream's cloak like he was trying to make sure he was actually in his arms. They were experiencing too many near-deaths lately. Each time they returned to the caring embrace of the other. 

"Dammit, George, what the hell is wrong with you?" Dream pushed up against George's face. George assumed Dream was trying to drive their foreheads together, but his mask was in the way. George's hands placed themselves on the sides of Dream's neck with a natural purpose. 

"I didn't want to abandon you to fight the hoglin," George looked to the side, avoiding the stare he had detected himself doing at Dream's lips. Dream let out a wry laugh, nuzzling his masked forehead against George's unmasked porcelain skin. 

"It was no threat to me. It was two hits that I could have easily done without getting thrown off of the bridge," Dream's arms never left their hold on George's torso, laying lax against him. 

"I don't know when you have a plan, Dream. I can't read you. You're such a mysterious figure that I can't figure out. You're so skilled that I just forget how skilled you actually are," George sighed, closing his eyes. 

"It's hard to adjust to me. I get it. But... you said you didn't want to abandon me. What would you have done if you died, George?" Dream's words weren't hard or angry like George expected them to be. They were sad and pleading, emphasis on both emotions shown through Dream's gentle tightening of his arms. George could see it now. Dream was so afraid of losing George that he had been anxiety-ridden during the fight with the hoglin. He had paused a long time, opting to ridicule George instead of rush into the fight. By the end, he was a mess, breathing heavily and holding them up even though he was causing himself pain in the process. Dream is _expressive_. 

"I would have abandoned you," George pressed further into Dream's mask, feeling the curve of the smile grazing over his skin. He hooked his fingers in Dream's hair, pushing his fingers against the other's hot neck. 

"Exactly. I'm too attached to lose you now, Georgie. The thought plagues," Dream's words rasped on their ends. 

"I did what I did because I'm the same way," George giggles, shaking his head without bothering to pull it away from Dream's touch. "I just want to make sure you live too."

"I know," Dream sighed, his words fatigued. He no longer fought against the ever so obstinate George. It appeared that Dream knew that George wasn't going to let up on his attachment and that it was unfair to expect him to do so while Dream continued with his devotion. "I don't know what you see in me."

"I see Dream in you, idiot," George raised an eyebrow, words dripping with sarcasm. He got a groan out of Dream because of it. "Hey, it's true. You're just you. I like the you of yourself."

"I like the you of yourself too."

-

The two boys went along their bridge, Dream adding on to it with George close. George started to be more cautious, looking behind them and around them instead of getting lost inside of his head. Dream was bridging the same as before, sparing multiple glances at George as an extension of his affection. He could tell that George had gotten a little weird after he stopped looking as frequently. He could read George pretty well. 

They were rapidly approaching their first destination, Dream's blocks dwindling along with his hope of seeing a Nether Fortress. Every time the fog parted, he would look with foreseeing eyes only to have that anticipation stomped out by the lack of purplish-red bricks. The first island they reached was an augmentation of the crimson forest they originally branched off. When they arrived, Dream hopped down from his freshly-placed netherrack and built a staircase for George. Nothing happened at the first island, and they recommenced their trip further into the Nether. 

The second island was a weird mixture between the Soul Sand Valley and the crimson forest. The soul sand appeared to be spilling out onto nylium ground, a ghastly call resounding from those separated from the only other souls keeping them company. There was a large fungus to the left, weeping vines hanging frayed from its cap. Crimson fungi lined the nylium, dotted amongst the roots. Small fungi aligning too close to the Soul Sand Valley appeared to have half of their life sucked from them. The half of them reaching towards the souls with an open and forgiving arm was a dull, wilted grey. The souls would take and never give. 

As Dream was starting another staircase up so that they weren't too close to the lava, George was interested in something else. A small strider stood on the nylium, shivering and purple, catching his attention. Dream finished his building and looked up to gather George as if he was a child lost in a supermarket, stopping his call once he saw the brunette huddling close to the minute creature. He didn't want to look away, wallowing in the delightful view. George had the baby strider cradled in his arms, whispering unintelligible sweet nothings to it with a soft yet concerned smile embellishing his lips. Dream could have been jealous of the tiny creature if not for the sight it was allowing him to see. He did want to be held in George's arms in that way, that same expression and benevolence. 

George looked out over the lava, a satiny glow casting light on his features. He caressed the side of the strider's face, eyes gleaming a twinkling orange. Dream, enthralled by George's beauty, didn't notice the adult strider plying over to George until he was crouching down and calling it baby. He proffered the baby strider, placing it on the back of the adult. A tender smile spread over Dream's face, lovestruck and warm-hearted. George straightened up, waving towards the striders as they stepped back into the lava with slow, cautious steps. The baby no longer shivered, the warm red color returning to its skin. George turned around, startling at the sight of Dream staring his way, cheeks flushing. His glistening brown eyes skipped around Dream's mask before settling away from it entirely. Dream snickered under his breath, amusement thick in his voice. 

"That was nice," Dream spoke, walking over to the other, nylium crunching under his boots. He placed a warm hand on George's, twisting the pale hand in his tan one. He confidently intertwined their fingers, pulling George's hand to his lips for the gentle caress of a kiss. He lifted his gaze to George's, watching the other's face flush a deeper pink, forgetting that George couldn't see his emerald gaze of affection. "Why don't you hold me like that?" his lips whispered over George's skin as he spoke. He saw the bob of George's Adam's apple as he swallowed thickly. 

"You aren't a baby, Dream," George's voice was shaky, breathless.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to be held by you," Dream guided George's hand to his cheek, nudging into it eagerly. George's furrowed eyebrows softened, his gaze heavy as he examined Dream. 

"I'll hold you when we get out of the Nether," George giggled the chirpy, crisp sound a blessing to Dream's ears. 

"That's a promise," Dream brought George's fingertips to his lips, giving one more kiss before releasing it. He walked over to the staircase and climbed it two steps at a time, offering an impatient hand to help George up them. There was no hesitance in the joining of their hands, George grabbing Dream's despite the knowledge that there was no bridge to walk across at the top. 

They distanced themselves to gain focus once more, Dream building with new vigor, wanting nothing more than to complete the bridge and escape the Nether as a pair. George was no anomaly, looking forward to the entangling of limbs and hushed murmurs of admiration. He kept a close eye on Dream, the lava, the hazy air, and any threats that could appear. They sped through to the next island of blue fire and souls. Dream looked behind him to see the welcoming soul soil just five more bundles of netherrack away. 

"Dream?" he looked back to see George's eyes locked on to something in the addled distance. He traced George's eyesight, throat closing, and heart jumping at the ghost-like creature floating through the air. The ghast hadn't noticed them yet, eyes half-lidded and sunken. A dark, grey substance that resembled tears oozed down its porcelain face. A ribbed pattern spotted its battered face. Its eyebrows turned down in sadness; the emotion etched deep into its expression. Tentacles of white fluttered below it, moving with minds of their own. Whimpers filled the dismal air; melancholic weeps calling out for release. Loneliness gripped Dream's heart at the sound. A previous time of despondent misery in an abandoned Nether, holed in a cave of netherrack, played through his mind in a broken memory. The only sounds filling the air were the desperate cries of ghasts as they prowled for a person to plague with their emotions. With low food and even lower health, it was a despicable period of horror. Dream's jaw clenched as he resurfaced, his hand whipping out to grab George's hand in his own. He tugged on George until he was nearly pressed against him, maybe gripping a little too hard in his maltreated headspace. 

"George—" Dream didn't get the chance to continue, a harrowing, offended scream echoing through the arid space. Dream looked in alarm, watching as the ghast's eyes widened in angry red aggression, mouth doing the same. The inside of the ghast grew fervent before a fireball was hacked up, blazing with all of the furies the ghast could gather. 

"Shit—Dream—build!" George stumbled over his words, frantic and impatient. Dream snapped out of his daze, aware of his surroundings and the reality that he couldn't build them over to the island. 

"You trust me, George?" a sharp nod. "We're jumping."

"What—" George incredulously, cut off by Dream's wrench in the direction of the island. 

"Jump when I say."

"Dream, wait," George looked between Dream and the fireball, panicked. The blazing ball was too close to wait, and George knew it. 

"Jump!" Dream ignored the visible apprehension George had in favor of living. Even though George was trembling and scared, he pushed off of the ground with Dream. The thought of George having faith in him regardless of his fears lit Dream up inside. They were not going to make the jump, but that was a thought Dream had accounted for. He felt George's hand tighten its grasp indefinitely. The explosion from the fireball making contact with the bridge they were previously standing on blew them forward enough to land on the edge of the soul soil. 

They landed harshly, lava skittering over Dream's leg dangerously. George was quick to snatch him out of the lava's danger zone, pulling them both to temporary safety. That temporary safety was destroyed when another fireball wrecked into the soul sand, demolishing the souls and throwing Dream and George to the side with minimal effort. Dream disconnected his hand from George's, running forward to intercept the next fireball with his sword. George made some incomprehensible noise of protest, but he didn't rush forward to stop Dream. Dream was thankful for the restraint George showed. It meant that George was trying to acknowledge Dream's skill and understand his mind. Angling his blade and hitting the fireball with his sword, Dream aimed for the ghast, getting thrown back by the force of the fireball against his sword. He landed in George's arms, his tense body relieving itself of the tension as soon as the hiss of success reached his ears. He let his head fall back into George's chest, stress fading when the brunette ran his trembling fingers through his hair.

" _Shit_ ," Dream let a hefty exhale out of his lungs. 

"Yeah. _Damn_ , that was terrifying," George's hand remained shaky, quaking with uncontrollable anxiety. 

"It was. We need to hurry up and get to that mainland right there," Dream pointed to the haven of land, blue and overgrown but oh so welcoming. George just gave a brief nod, pushing Dream away from him. Dream turned his head to George, pouting at him. George raised an eyebrow.

"You said we have to go."

"You didn't have to push me away like I was gross," Dream turned his head to the floor, deciding to be theatrical. George scoffed in response.

"Such a baby, just build," he pushed on Dream's shoulders, guiding him to the edge he would need to build from. Dream complied, although faux sadly, keeping his head down and his shoulders slumped. George would roll his eyes and complain about how slow Dream was building. Dream bridged until he heard George gasp from in front of him. He looked up to see George's eyes wide with amazement. Dream's heart picked up speed, his head snapping in the direction George was looking. Towering high above, mightily gazing down on them as if they were ants, was the Nether Fortress. Purple bricks scoured their every move, criticizing their every fault. 

_They had found the Nether Fortress_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I love you. I sincerely have such gratitude for everyone who has read and liked my work. I appreciate all of the kind words in the comments. The support is amazing. I'm so grateful for you all <3


	13. thir teen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jump to me," Dream took a step back onto a newly placed piece of netherrack, opening his arms wide in a gesture beckoning George to _come_ and _be embraced_. A smile, genuine and excited, added on to the persuasiveness. 
> 
> "You're an idiot," George scoffed dubiously. "I thought you wanted to keep me alive, not put me in situations that could kill me."

Peculiar, dark bricks extended overhead, overshadowing with a menacing aura. It was unlike any building George had seen, even more so than the bastion. A deep pit set in his stomach, twisting and writhing uncomfortably. He felt nauseous looking at the building that towered so insurmountably. It taunted George, spite filling the glare of light reflecting off of the bricks. They had an odd shine to them as though they were dipped in a glaze before being placed so meticulously. Jagged edges accentuated the sides of the building, alluding to the unstable condition of the fortress. The long legs pressing into the ground and lava were thick and sturdy. Occasionally, a brick was missing from the area George's eyes brushed over, but nothing detrimental to the structure. 

Fences covered what George could only assume were windows, made of the same material as the rest of the building based on color. It was an interesting aesthetic choice unless it had a purpose. The ambiguity of the design made curiosity blossom in George's head, taking root and gripping the back of his brain with endless questions. He had never seen such extravagant intricacies in the multiple stylistic choices the building showcased. He couldn't pick apart what had a purpose and what was just an exterior design choice. He could ask Dream, but he doubted the other knew why certain things were the way they were. Taking the building into consideration as a whole, it looked oddly unostentatious aside from the uncommon fence here and there. But upon closer inspection, the posts had a symmetrical pattern, and the detailing had to be done by a skilled architect. This relic would explode in George's world. The whole dimension would be poked and prodded for some semblance of purpose and unknown lifeforms. Yet, the people of this world left it in its natural state. Explored but intact. Only what was needed was taken and used. This world wasn't as bad as he formerly thought it was. Maybe that was due to Dream's mindset. 

The structure in itself was beautiful, a display of skilled art for the world to grow around and add onto until its inevitable destruction. Nature, or as far as nature could come in the extreme environment of the Nether, had started to encompass the fortress, adding to the artwork invading its land. Blue fungus, warped fungus Dream informed, grew around the nether brick in an intricate twirl of waltzing colors. The bright blue heavily contrasted the dark burgundy of the nether brick, melting into a pleasing combination. All of the fungus growing close enough to the fortress fostered towards it, reaching for a touch to leech off of its powerful ambience. They latched to the side of the fortification as though they would die without the contact. Soft yellow light shone from within the warped wart comprising the cap of the fungus. The stem was a mix of branching blue and a base of purple, turned blue with George's vision. 

The fortress heeded to no fungus nor lava. The boiling semi-liquid ran down the sides of the hold, flowing from high above. The bricks were unaffected, steadfast, without cracks or disruptions. The building stood with a ferocious will to survive despite the odds of the world. The building was a survivor, something that would fight to stay alive no matter what. It was a building that housed protective dangers and expensive loot. It was a building that held the spirits of those both alive and dead. It was a building that could lead to Dream and George's demise or their success. It was terrifying. 

An intense heat wrenched George's gut and body, a gripping force that warned him to stay away from the fortress. With the sudden sick feeling, he turned to Dream and grabbed the other's arm in an attempt to quell his rising terror, the eerie white noise, the never silent atmosphere, making hot chills crash down his body. There was a constant dull ringing in the Nether. Every biome they'd been to had noises subtly capturing the background in a foreboding essence.

A warming presence gently reassured him, a hand on the small of his back. He looked up at Dream, the familiar mask offering him a sort of grip on his emotions. His chest rose with a deep breath he took in, Dream's mirroring him. Dream wasn't smiling like he usually was. He wasn't extending pitying happiness that both of them could use to pretend. He was grave, taking their discovery with a heavy heart. There was always going to be the eventual lull in joy, that moment that stuck its foot down and crumbled their false mood of playfulness until it was nothing but a fine powder. This moment, this time in which they've found what they were looking for, was precisely that. It is the moment they get serious. The moment their caution reaches its highest point, and they don't nudge, giggle, and tease each other. This disturbing moment of silence, nothing but physical contact shared between them. 

Neither of them broke that silence, speaking through their actions. Dream pushed ever-so-slightly against George's back, urging them both forward. George followed blindly, moving where ever Dream wanted him to go. They stayed glued to each other's sides as they took the first steps towards the fortress. Dream was taking it slow; George could tell in the gentle pressure remaining on his back. It was almost a reminder that Dream was there and that Dream was looking out for George. He gave off his own glimmering aura, a powerful air filled with rough beauty and grace. His emanation was warm, no longer dangerous. It was uplifting where the Nether Fortress was not. It filled all of George's empty spaces, all of his thoughtful worries and empty fears. 

Dream guided them to the fortress, hesitantly detaching his hand from George's back. It was in the way his palm lifted, but his fingers lingered, shaking before he broke contact. Dream pulled out netherrack with a slow dread encompassing his movements. He was moving in unmotivated transits with his lips pulled tautly. He spared a glance at George over his shoulder, gesturing to the netherrack floor below them before pointing up at the large expanse of nether bricks making up the fortress. He needed more materials, and George was an extra set of hands to do the job. Understanding the message, George watched for a few more breaths, observing the skilled building set at a pace faster than an ordinary person could maintain. Watching Dream might become a hobby of his. 

George started to gather more netherrack in preparation for when Dream would ask for more. Every few minutes, he would look up from his work to see if anything might be looking to harm him. Give or take ten minutes—he didn't really have a watch—passed before he was watching Dream climb back down after making a staircase half of the way up this leg of the fortress. George held out the netherrack he had gathered as Dream strolled over to him. Dream took the netherrack with one hand, smoothly slipping his other hand into George's before he could return it to his side. The comforting warmth embraced George, warming his heart and flushing his cheeks. Dream kept their hands intertwined as he walked back to the staircase, dragging George with him. George wanted desperately to hear his voice, for a soft reassurance, a whispered promise. 

There was none. 

The two went up the precarious staircase, George staring at their intertwined hands as they went. Dream would flex and squeeze his hand often, like George's hand was a stress ball, and he was anxious out of his mind. George didn't mind the movement, dealing with it and returning the squeeze when it came to it. Dream was worrying his lip between his teeth as though this was his first time in a Nether Fortress. George's heart would flutter at the concern being shown by Dream if his heart wasn't already in a constant state of nervous flutters. His blank facial expression wouldn't give away the anxiety, but Dream could probably feel it wafting off him in waves. He might have considered Dream a weird magical being if he wasn't so embarrassingly _human_. 

George felt like he was swallowing rocks, his throat feeling smaller with every breath. His heart hurt in his chest, a dull ache rioting in his chest. His breaths had become labored and erratic, the stifling air being no help. The mere thought of the fortress plagued his thoughts with trepidation. He quailed the puissant building. The color of the bricks swirled in his mind's eye, nausea overtaking his stomach. He didn't know how to think about it without sentencing his mind to a spinning catastrophe of panicked whispers. The Nether Fortress resembled an evil beast, an unbeatable boss. It was too quiet, yet too loud. It was looking down on him. It was acknowledging Dream's power, keeping him at arm's length while twirling George's mind, making him believe it wouldn't eat him whole with Dream by his side. It was misleading him, trying to make him an unsuspecting victim. It was throwing his head into a flurry of undesirable fright. 

"George." His name was uttered with finality, pulling him from his thoughts forcibly. His panic-stricken gaze met the mask of his partner, a large gulp of saliva sliding down his throat with strain. Dream's lips remained in a straight line, pulled firm and sober. It demanded a reply.

"Yes?" his voice was uncharacteristically level for his visible panic. 

"Calm down. It's okay. We just need to kill a few fire guys," Dream's voice was smooth, reassuring yet demanding, impatient yet waiting. 

"I know. I don't know why I'm so scared," George squeezed Dream's hand, greedy for more comfort. His body, mind, and soul took the reassurance like a dehydrated man in a desert finding an oasis of water. He soaked in it, lapped it up with no remorse. The relief it was giving him made him crave for more. 

"Just follow my lead. Stick to my side, no matter what. Do not let the dark grey skeletons hit you," Dream caved to the consolation, squeezing George's hand back. 

"That's all?" George shifted closer to Dream, giving their arms extra slack. 

"Yes," the simple word was enough to mollify George's raging storm of anxiety. He could do the simple things asked of him. There were only three rules he needed to follow; and only one end goal. In theory, it was a facile victory for them. Now he could stop selfishly clinging to Dream's words with his desperation for comfort. 

"Easy," George smiled, a confident easiness accompanying it. He could observe the way Dream's shoulders lost their tension, falling from their defensively raised position. He could see the exact moment Dream let himself feel something for himself instead of George. Comforted, relieved, more confident. 

"That's what I've been telling you," Dream's shoulders rose, but rather than tension thickly stiffening them, there was a teasing fluidness to them. George felt warm, knowing he helped Dream with his nerves. He was able to successfully return the favor after Dream's many times. Dream deserved to be palliated of his stress. 

"It is," George chuckled, gripping Dream's hand in a firm, questionless grasp. They were squeezing the life out of each other's hands at this point. Neither of them would bring attention to the slight tingle their hands harbored, like tiny needles digging through the top layer of skin. The numbness only resided physically. 

It felt good to banter again. George hadn't realized the need to socialize with Dream until he could do so comfortably again. Dream's seriousness had all but washed away, his cocky attitude taking front as he placed netherrack two blocks away before jumping to it. The somber Dream he had seen previously was not the Dream he was used to. It was not something he could will himself to enjoy when Dream's regular mood had him flitting around with puppy-like enthusiasm. Dream was adorable when he was in his natural state, unaware of those maybe looking in his direction. His tiny quirks that could accumulate into flaws were too endearing to twist negatively.

"Jump to me," Dream took a step back onto a newly placed piece of netherrack, opening his arms wide in a gesture beckoning George to _come_ and _be embraced_. A smile, genuine and excited, added on to the persuasiveness. 

"You're an idiot," George scoffed dubiously. "I thought you wanted to keep me alive, not put me in situations that could kill me."

"Aww, don't be like that, Georgie. I just want you in my arms," Dream's head tilted, flirty, and enticing. George couldn't resist the cocky suaveness that came with Dream's advances. The lean frame shrouded in the cloak that he had only seen in short glimpses, the black sleeves accentuating every divot and vein in Dream's arms, the jeans that clung a little too tightly around Dream's legs for George to resist staring in odd moments of tunnel vision. Dream was mesmerizing. 

Maybe his electrifying presence was what made George jump to him. Perhaps it was the thought of those arms tangling around him. Or possibly, it was because it was _Dream_. 

Whatever the reason may be, George jumped with little notice beside the faint bend in his knees. Dry air rushed into his face, attacking his eyes and lips with malice only a dry air could utilize. His eyes may have become painstakingly drained of moisture, and his lips split, but he was pleased to land his jump and clumsily trip into Dream's chest, giggling all the while. A sturdy grip made its home around his waist, hands connecting at the small of his back, steadying him. Hard ivory pressed into the top of his head, pushing his hair at odd angles as they moved to cup the mask affectionately. A low rumble tickled his cheek as words built up in Dream's chest before they were released for his ears to decipher. 

"See?" a teasing, vibrating voice spoke. "It was fun," the words were soft and subtly provocative. With no real meaning to make his voice so frustratingly tantalizing, Dream effortlessly made George melt. An inundating heat radiating from the Nether's hot breath, Dream's body heat, and his own body forced him to pull away from Dream. The younger fumbled with the back of George's shirt, releasing him despite the confusion. 

"You're so hot," George panted, pulling at the neckline of his shirt for an attempted draft of air. Dream's hand shot up to his face, covering the only indication of his emotions from George. He could feel the other's eyes on him, what part of him he was unsure. 

"Jesus, George," Dream's voice sounded like it had been overused, rasping his words. George rose an eyebrow, unaware of what he could have done to elicit this reaction from Dream. What had he done so right? If Dream's voice rasped like that because of something he did... Dream cleared his throat before continuing. "You can't just do that."

"Do what?" George drank in this reaction, letting it sink into his skin and down to his bones. He wanted to memorize the way Dream's voice sounded and the way his hands had moved so quickly to cover his emotion. 

" _That_ ," Dream explained, quite unhelpfully. Upon seeing George's still confused expression, Dream knew he had to explain better. "Telling me I'm hot, panting, and then giving me a clear view of your pale ass collarbones."

"My collarbones?" George felt his breath escape in one fatal, winded swoop. Fire grazed the pit of his stomach dangerously. He didn't know what to say in response. "T.. they aren't that pale—"

"The look in your eyes too, George," Dream groaned, low and slow, menacingly feeding George's fire. "We're about to go headfirst into a dangerous building—not to mention huge—and you lead me into battle with _that_?"

"I didn't _mean_ to," George hid his face with his own hands, sadly getting no rest from the heat during their conversation. His stomach boiled and bubbled, trying to force unspoken desires from him. "What you originally said made me really hot, and then your body heat wasn't helping, and neither was the Nether. It's all just so hot. Use what I said as motivation or something. Get our asses in and out of the fortress, and we'll see just how much of those collarbones you can have." 

"George," his tone was low, hazardous, igniting a spark from George's fingertips to the ends of his toes. An ache, dull and prominent, spread over the collarbone that had been exposed to Dream's line of sight. He gulped. _Hard_. "Stop speaking and follow me."

"Okay," George felt strangely compelled to follow whatever orders were given to him. He reckoned that Dream could tell him to do anything, and he would listen as long as he was being told in that voice. 

They scaled the rest of the building in a flurry, Dream's inhumane speed seemingly increasing with his current mindset. He looked intensely focused and avoided George's compliant gaze at all costs. George had never seen someone so set on doing something with such passion. It was all because of him. All because of him and his vague, not-yet-agreed-upon promises. He didn't have much of a say in whether that promise would be fulfilled or not. At the end of the day, he was clay in Dream's palm, willing and ready to be molded by him. George was only an idiot on certain occasions, and this one was not one of those. He was well aware of what was happening between the two of them. They were bleeding into unchartered territory, that which was beyond friendship. They did it so fast and with such an effortless switch. There had been many moments that held suspicion of something more, but this one reigns victorious. Dream had never implied anything beyond harmless flirting. Neither of them had acted on anything either. George would ride this out and see where Dream took him. 

Dream got them to a barred off window, instantly getting to work breaking it down. George peeked from behind him, gazing at the unadorned corridor that held no entities. A hazy fog had settled in the inside of the building, shrouding the hallway in an ominous mystery. It was an empty building with nothing but more nether brick indoors. The vacuity of the outstretched hallway added to the eldritch atmosphere. George huddled closer to Dream on instinct, breath becoming erratic again. Dream's body stiffened at the proximity between them, ridged until they were no longer touching. George could be a brat, but when he was so terrified, that personality trait struggled to show. He tried not to get too close to Dream in case the other lost focus on their task. 

"Shit," Dream muttered under his breath, head twisting to look down both pathways. "We're going to have to search for the blaze spawners." 

"Oh God, it's a spawner?" George licked his bottom lip, dread heavyset in his stomach at the thought. If blazes spawned as much as the zombies he had been stuck within the ravine's cave while being able to _shoot fireballs_ , George wasn't so sure of himself anymore. 

"Don't worry. I usually clear them out before the next batch spawns. The thing with spawners is that you have to get rid of them quickly enough and know that if you're far enough away, they won't spawn at all," Dream's genuine smile comforted George's swimming mind of self-doubt. Dream looked at him again just to make sure he could reassure him. 

"Okay. The mighty Dream is on my side, so of course, I'll be okay," George raised an eyebrow, smirking as Dream cocked his hip, putting his hand on it. Dream was looking at him, mask angled and peering with the same amount of sinister offense that he could assume painted Dream's face. George smiled, playfully flicking the front of the mask before stepping back by his heel. 

"Naturally," Dream's cocky voice broke out, hand touching the front of his mask as if the cover had felt the hit. He gestured with his other hand, circling it in apparent equanimity. George's eyes followed as Dream's hand dipped by his side before he pulled out his sword. His fingers flexed around the handle of the sharp blade, veins giving the appearance of a shift. George's eyes traced the edge, picking up on the way it reflected nothing more than the same dark bricks that covered the area. Dream held the sword in front of his face; a grin split over his lips, extensive and joyous. George could assume that Dream's passion for battle was unmatched in this world. He had the skill, the venal aura of a broken man knowing nothing but to kill, and the determination. When did a man like this become captivated by George? When did a man like this push his fears aside to be by George's side? When did a man like this become so enamored by George that he would sacrifice himself? 

When did this man capture George's heart—his soul, his eyes, and his ears—all to himself?

-

Dream tended to get lost in all of George's features. 

He tended to forget his mask was in the way. In the way of them sharing moments of lingering eye contact, of shared admiration, of lips grazing lips. 

He tended to let his thoughts wander on trips with George as the centerpiece, trips that encompassed all of his desires and subtle glances. 

It was no surprise when he had been staring at George's collarbone and thinking about how nice they would look if they were colored by his lips, tongue, and teeth. It was no surprise that he had accidentally outed his less-than-innocent thoughts to George. The man was at the center of all of his thoughts. The man was a dashing shade of blue in his otherwise red thoughts, a ribbon wrapping around him, grasping at certain parts of him while gently cascading over others. The ribbon wrapped his hands and arms the tightest, all of the times George had run his hands over all the crevices he could find sticking to Dream's body in soft tingles and whispered heat. His face that had been tucked so neatly into George's hair had this ribbon wrapped around it several times, curling through his hair in gentle waves and reaching down his back, wrapping tightly around where George's hands had gripped him in his warm embrace. Traces of George manifested in this ribbon of his mind.

They almost overpowered the strings nailed through his limbs. The strings of reminder, of a dark grip on his being. A dark, purple, glowing grip. They chained his wrists and rubbed painfully at the skin there. They pulled at him at different intervals, in different desires. They manipulated his limbs to their will. His mask's clasp sealed indestructibly, buried in his soft hair, tangled from lack of brushing. A thin nail, just as sorrowful as the others, pierced his brain and dug into it. Manipulating some of his thoughts in flashes of red, purple, and green. A mixture of the horrifying thoughts tucked away yet flashing blindingly. 

Dream tended to observe George fondly. 

He tended to want to tear at the cuffs on his wrists in his mind's image. 

He tended to fail and rub them raw.

Green eyes, an uninvited purple swirl. He traced his gaze up to his sword, eyes slipping past it to gaze at George. Brown eyes looked at him with a sweet admiration. They swirled with unspoken emotions. Emotions that George would never show. Green eyes traced the mocking, unmarked skin of George's neck. Wouldn't it be so easy to _change that_?

It would be easy to lean George up against the wall, slipping his mask off of his face as he did so. It would be easy to tuck his face into George's neck, inhale his soothing scent and leave tender kisses trailing over his pale skin. 

_It would be easy to_...

His mind's mask trapped his features and pushed him back from the intimate scene. His sword sat uncomfortably in his hand, taunting for use. George was back to looking at him with those disgusting eyes. Those eyes held fear. 

It would be easy to pin him to the wall and push the iron of his blade into that porcelain skin. To crack it and watch as crimson gathered. 

What?

None of that made sense. Jittery fingers trailed over the hilt of his swords, nudging and worrying it between his fingers. Shit. Was George truly safe in his company? Was he actually protecting the smaller man?

"Dream?" George's voice was saccharine, warm, offering a haven from his mind. What would happen if he set those ribbons on fire and ran away?

"Yes?" Dream's voice came out strained. Maybe all of his fears were rational and should have been listened to more closely. 

"Let's go kick some blaze ass," George smiled smugly like he knew something Dream didn't. What could he possibly know?

"Stay close, here," Dream extended his left hand, making soft grabbing gestures. George went to him with ease, no hesitance. George trusts him. George, so sweet and fragile in his hands, so light, soft, and warm. He pulled George flush to his side, mind vacant of all previous thoughts that kept him from such a magnificent touch. "If you leave my side, we're gonna have issues."

They never did have issues. They traveled up and down corridors with purpose, gazing down them before skipping into them like children on Christmas. They ducked behind walls at the sight of grey, prowling back the way they came with the simple intent not to run into any of the skeletons. They were on the last leg, Dream had told George with hovering anticipation, when they ran into some trouble. Three wither skeletons had gathered in the direction they needed to go. Dream didn't like wither skeletons. Wither skeletons were harmful. They could give the wither effect in one fell swoop. Their stone swords were dull, their intentions to hurt whether they killed or not highly evident in the way they moved. They were tall, Dream would assume pretty terrifying from George's height. He was even pretty scared of them, but over the years he had grown to be annoyed instead. At a gigantic nine feet, wither skeletons towered over most opponents. Their desolate eyes were those of nightmares, plaguing many of Dream's sleepless nights. The wither effect was scarring, and Dream would do everything in his power to ensure George didn't have to deal with that kind of pain. He didn't know what he would do if he had to watch George cry out in pain when he could have aided in George not having to feel that kind of pain at all. 

He knew that it was logical to fight them. With his skills and George's ability to hold a shield, they should be fine. He wanted to keep George from even touching the fight, so he positioned him at the end of the hallway, shield in hand. George protested profusely before giving up the worthless argument. Dream made it clear that George would stay there and block out any attacks that might threaten him. What Dream hadn't anticipated when he plunged into the fight with three wither skeletons was his empty left hand. His shield had broken during his fight with the magma cube. He tried not to pay any mind to the lack of a protective barrier from their hits. 

The problem with wither skeletons is their speed. Not only did they have a size advantage and a numerical advantage, but they also had speed. They could hit viciously hard for beings of bone, and with such speed, it was hard to maintain a fight with one, much less three. Dream looked forward to the fight with the blazes, not the wither skeletons. But, this wasn't a matter of whether or not he could enjoy this fight. This was a matter of protecting George at all costs. The ribbons tugged at him, directing him back to George hastily. Dream had no time for ribbons, brushing his thoughts aside and focusing on the fight. He blocked hit after hit with his sword, stone swords dangerously close to entering his skin multiple times. They tore his cloak from different angles, narrowly missing his agile movements. It took him a while into the fight to kill one of them, the fumbling fizzles of smoke colliding with the top of the nether fortress in a lonely end. Dream struggled with the next two, getting a few hits in before George's shrill yell of fear tintinnabulated like a knife slicing through the thick air. Dream looked over his shoulder for a split second, catching sight of another wither skeleton harassing George in the corner. His decision couldn't have been worse, both skeletons bringing their swords down onto his shoulder, slicing ever-so-slightly down his back. 

Searing, white-hot pain screamed out from his wounds, the wither effect already greying his skin. He bit his lip until he bled, fighting with all he had. He needed to kill these two and get to George, who still writhed behind his shield anxiously. Dream took out the other two wither skeletons in a blurry force of ego-fueled power. He defended George's honor, bringing death to the tall bastard that attempted to hurt him. He killed the wither skeleton with hardly any issues, sending it tumbling to the ground in a mass of bones. He looked wildly to George—his pain momentarily pushed to the side to see whether his friend had gotten hurt or not. 

"Are you okay? It didn't hit you, right?" Dream grabbed the front of George's shield, throwing it to the side with a shrill clank. George's fearful eyes flitted everywhere they could think to look, examining Dream's body without answering his question. Upon seeing the injury on Dream's shoulder, he winced, something akin to a whimper leaving him. 

"You got hit," George rushed to Dream, eyes still locked onto the oozing black laceration. Dream knew what the injury looked like; he'd seen it enough times to know. One could never get used to the seizing feeling of pain that the wither effect brought with it. His tan skin should be a dull grey by now, veins around the area a dark black. The effect would have to run its course through his body, slowly draining him of any fighting will. His skin would flake and crack around the injury like a wilting flower petal turned black with death. He would have to push past the pain that was more than flesh and blood could bear. His pain was starting to come back, not high on battle anymore.

"It—it doesn't—I'll be fine," Dream attempted to straighten his body, which was determined to curl in on itself. His body wanted to try new positions that might alleviate the pain, but he would fight with any will he had. His shoulder and back throbbed with the newfound pain it had to endure. He started to writhe in place, a heat overcoming his body with what little his immune system could do in an attempt to rid itself of the nightmarish feeling. George could tell he was uncomfortable and in pain, lips pulled into a tight, concerned frown. 

"If you'll be so fine, take us to the spawner," George gestured in the direction of the empty hallway with just enough light at the end to allude to the spawner on the open area just beyond the opening. Dream's brain started to pound, trying to work past the mush it was being melted into. His whole body felt like fire was consuming it. 

"Mm," Dream knew he couldn't talk, his tongue a useless slab weighing his mouth down. He went to take a step, limbs ringing with pain at every small movement. As soon as his foot met the brick floor again, he started stumbling forward uncontrollably. George grabbed him, hands singeing his burning limbs, struggling to keep his weight up and having to guide his body to the floor in a flurry of blurred colors. A whimper came from Dream, sweat pouring more than it had previously been. He continuously moved no matter how tormenting it was on himself. No position would take his pain away his body trembled regardless of him moving or not. 

George's hands shook as they encased the sides of his face, sad eyes observing his pained state. "I've got you, Dreamie, don't worry," George moved away, causing a long groan to escape Dream. George was not going to go get blaze rods without him. He would jump up in his state and tackle the other if need be. George gave no reassuring words to this protest, moving deftly to the side and taking cobblestone from his bag. He made a defensive wall too tall for any mobs to get into. He copied this on the other side too, calming Dream's accusatory thoughts. 

Now to ride out the wave of agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> withered withered withered  
> uh ohhh  
> also accidental sexual scene haha,,,   
> I also have an idea for a Wild West AU and I wANT TO WRITE IT SO BAD  
> alot of them will be in it :) it would be a dnf ofc ofc but it's just so :D


	14. fourt een

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dream," a breathless gasp of words broke through George's lips, a thumb grazing sickly skin like it would crumble with his touch. He observed how Dream pulled his lip between his teeth and the attentive grunt coming from them. Dream was truly hurting, something that made George feel sick inside. "C—can you make it?" his voice broke, stuttering with emotion. His brain encompassed two thoughts: _Dream_ and _hurt_. 

The Nether Fortress had a dark cloud settled over it, antagonizing and sad. The mobs were, for lack of a better word, unaffected by this deep despair twisting and writhing throughout the building, seeping through fenced windows and filling every crevice available. But, the Nether appeared to be affected by its favored occupant's agony, groaning in strengthened waves of madness. The Nether was darker now, unsettling in a new light. The darkness that you would expect to settle over a lover when their significant other dies. Dream was highly esteemed in this domain, regardless of the mobs fighting him. The souls knew who the superior being in their region was. 

George. He was the lover burdened with the injured partner. His heart was the one plagued with thoughts of fear and shame. While he had been sitting to the side in harmony save for a singular skeleton, Dream was fighting for both of their lives. If he hadn't reacted the way he had, if he hadn't screamed, maybe Dream would still be okay. Maybe Dream wouldn't have greying skin and an oh-so-pale complexion. George wished he was the one that had to writhe and wilt from pain. He wished the blackness was overtaking him and not the one he cared so much about. He had the overwhelming urge to breakdown at the sight of Dream in all his shallow-breathed, painfully scrunched glory, Dream, who was now too beaten down to run his annoying mouth in playful quips. Dream, who could barely keep his mouth from grimacing at the torture he was experiencing. Dream was always so strong for George, so protective, a haven. 

"Dream," a breathless gasp of words broke through George's lips, a thumb grazing sickly skin like it would crumble with his touch. He observed how Dream pulled his lip between his teeth and the attentive grunt coming from them. Dream was truly hurting, something that made George feel sick inside. "C—can you make it?" his voice broke, stuttering with emotion. His brain encompassed two thoughts: _Dream_ and _hurt_. 

"Yes," it was clipped, fast, and brimming with hurt. It came as a surprise that Dream spoke, but the shock didn't alleviate the quivering voice and ache that blossomed with it. A patronizing breath of air entered his lungs, collapsing his head with guilt. He didn't want to be irresponsible and cause Dream pain. He wanted so desperately to duck his head into Dream's chest and pull him closer. He wished to comfort the profusely sweating mess in front of him. Dream was panting from the pain he was experiencing. 

"Okay," George sucked air through his teeth, trying to steel his nerves. No matter how much hurt he endured at the sight of Dream, he needed to progress them. Dream was out of commission, and this would be a much-needed break for the crumpled mass of human. Not a pleasant recess, but an intermission nonetheless. "I'll get us blaze rods." 

"Mmf—" Dream shot up from his lounged position, right hand gripping George's clothing in a tight coil. 

"Hey—sit back!" George's left hand settled on Dream's elbow, his right hand resting on Dream's left, which held his injured shoulder. He got caught up in the panic Dream's sudden movement sparked, pushing the other harshly back into the wall. He had never been the most careful person when it came to other people. It wasn't apparent that he had hurt the other until he noticed the punitive tooth piercing through Dream's lip. "Dream? Are you okay?"

Dream's mouth opened, nothing more than a broken gasp catching in his throat. Once his tooth unclamped from his lip, crimson blood, blackened unnaturally, was unveiled. George's heart dropped into his stomach, guilt creeping more heavily than the last time. He had made Dream hurt enough to bite his lip to hide that he harmed him. 

"Dream," his voice came out more stern than he wanted it to, earning a recoiled from his touch. Dream. _Dream flinched away from him_. "Dream," he tried again, voice successfully softening. "Please. Your lip," George's voice didn't hold disappointment per se, more of a self-aimed shame. He removed his right hand from Dream's, cupping the man's face in his clammy palm. He tugged the bleeding lip downward with his thumb, warm liquid staining his fingertip. Dream's breath hitched with the touch, and if George had been more selfish, he would have thought it was because of his touch rather than the hurt that came with it. "I'm sorry." 

Dream's teeth parted, hot air brushing against George's skin. No words nor noise, a simple shift in Dream's lip was the only indication that his mouth moved. George didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't what happened. Dream, the ever-unpredictable creature that he was, didn't kiss George's fingertips and tell him that he was okay; instead, he grabbed George's thumb between his teeth, sinking them into it. George's mind didn't process what was happening to him, eyes still trained on Dream's mouth. Once the pain reached his head, he yelped, pulling his hand away from Dream's face. "What the hell! Did you just _bite_ me?" an incredulous laugh met the air. 

A disheartening wheeze collided with the disbelieving laughter, twirling in harmony. The wheeze lacked both the usual power and contagiousness. It was a broken thing, as though something had scratched the record containing Dream's laughter. It came ill, crackling like lightning. Dangerous, alluding to the pain in the system behind the operation. George feared for Dream's well-being.

"I wanted to hear," Dream had to stop before finishing, wincing, almost pulling his lip between his teeth once again. "Your laugh." 

"You'll have a lot more chances to hear it in the future," George rolled his eyes, glancing at his thumb. The blood from Dream's lip was still on it. He rubbed his thumb against his jeans, shaking his hand in mock hurt once he rid it of the blood. It was still stained a dark, nearly black crimson. 

"Now," Dream muttered, fidgeting with George's clothes, no longer holding them in a death grip. George felt the confusion nibbling his brain, urging him to clarify. 

"What?" he gave in to the urge, feeding it with a questioning tone. A small tug on his clothes had him looking directly at Dream, watching the taller man with curiosity. He was like a toddler seeking attention. 

"I wanted to hear your laugh now," Dream's grip returned to a tightness enough to earn himself white knuckles. His mask was angled downwards, tufts of hair poking out in oddly endearing angles. His mouth was still evidence of his pain, his punctured lip an addition. George couldn't help but crack a smile, pushing his hands against the other's cheeks. He locked eyes with the smiley mask, shaking his head fondly. 

"Okay. You didn't have to bite me though," Dream's cheeks shifted in his hands, a large grin illuminating his features. Although he looked pale and deathly, he was still gorgeous when he smiled. 

"Revenge," Dream giggled, choking up midway through. George moved his fingers in light circles over Dream's temples, trying to give a mild sense of comfort. Continuing on with the conversation seemed to be the only plausible option. 

"Revenge for what?" George pouted, eyes never swaying their gaze into the void holes of black. George could imagine Dream's eyes scrunched from the strange mixture of pain and amusement. What color were they? What shape were they? How long were his eyelashes? How would those eyelashes feel against his rosy cheeks?

"You slammed me against the wall!" the elevated voice echoed down the hall before the other broke into a coughing fit, guttural, the kind that you wince upon hearing. The kind you know stings in the back of the other's throat. 

"You scared the shit out of me! And you were moving! You shouldn't be moving right now!" George retorted, scrunching his nose in defiance. Dream only leaned into his hands, smile ever-present on his glistening, unsettlingly red cheeks. 

"Fair," Dream replied. For a second, they just looked at each other, one set of adoring eyes hidden. All too suddenly, the moment dissipated, destroyed by a sharp gasp and his partner curling in on himself, tugging on George's t-shirt. George, knowing no other way to soothe Dream, pushed his head up against the mask where Dream's forehead would be. He wasn't going to invalidate Dream's hurt by shushing his shaky gasps. He wasn't going to force Dream into an even more vulnerable, dependent position than he was in already. Dream was a strong foe, a force to be reckoned with. Dream had been through the same experience on his own plenty of times. All that George was was a comfort factor. For this particular situation, George provided a hand to hold. He offered a shoulder to cry on, a warm embrace, a judgement-free mind. Dream must've seen these caring attributes, pulling George closer to him in a tight embosom. From close in, tucked to Dream's chest in a borderline painful grip, George could easily hear the tremulous breaths in their full capacity. They were labored, breathy, quivering unsteadily. Dream's pain could be felt, heard, in his breathing and the uneven shift of his chest. The hitches paused his movement momentarily, as though his body was biding time, putting off its death with wavering faith. "God, it hurts so bad," Dream's voice sounded watery like he was fighting off his tears. George's hands clawed at the tattered fabric of Dream's cloak, his heart aching for Dream's condition. Dream sounded so in pain, so hurt, suffering. George hated it. 

"I know. You've handled it so well," George brought himself impossibly closer to Dream, whose masked face was nuzzled into his shoulder rather harshly. He couldn't tell if the mask was preventing Dream from further comfort or if it was offering even more comfort. It all depended on how Dream felt, and he couldn't tell what Dream felt. "It looks so painful, and the way your body is reacting tells me it must be pretty bad. Either that or you're a pussy."

"What?" Dream's voice came weak at first, making George regret what he had said in an attempt to lighten the mood. But, Dream soon was giggling feebly into George's skin. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," George giggled in return, turning his head to the side, successfully tucking his face in Dream's neck. He could hear the new hitch, one more soft and less rigid than the one caused by pain. This was the hitch caused by physical affection. Dream didn't seem used to the touch aspect of everything. "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"I am quite literally dying, George," Dream deadpanned, before giggling afterward, a few jerky sounds in between laughs a constant reminder of his state. George didn't find the phrase as amusing, his smile falling into dangerously serious territory. He sighed against Dream's sickeningly warm neck, placing his soft lips in the crook. Dream's laughs were interrupted with a baffled gasp and tensed body. 

"Don't say that," George mumbled, gaining a laugh sucked of all its amusement. It was soft and confusing. 

"Of course, I'm sorry," Dream apologized, cuddling further into George's neck and squeezing him. George sighed again, the touch pleasant and reassuring. He almost didn't feel the tickle of lips planting a soft kiss on the exact spot he had on Dream. The kiss feathered over his pale skin, warmth spreading from the point of contact. A furious blush spread over his cheeks at the feeling. Did Dream blush the same way as him? 

"Are you going to let me get blaze rods for us?" George whispered, the intimacy of their position settling in. Dream groaned into George's neck, pressing further into him. 

"You're guilt-tripping me," Dream whined, his words dragging with an authentic lilt. 

"How am I _guilt-tripping_ you?" George rolled his eyes, amusement heavy in his voice. 

"You're speaking softly, and you didn't say I forgive you. You asked if you could go get blaze rods like that is going to make you forgive me."

"Well, I already forgave you, silly," George let a breath of air push through his nose, a delicate dance against Dream's neck. He felt the shiver it caused. "Just because I don't say it doesn't mean I don't forgive you. I don't articulate feelings all that well."

"Silly?" Dream went lax from the comment, melting under the rays of his sunshine. George felt that wonderous fire in his stomach igniting into a loving flame. Dream being so soft here like this, it made his brain fizzle and his heart flutter. It seemed Dream was feeling the same way. George laughed nervously; all his nerves heightened in feeling. He didn't want to shy away, but his feelings were overwhelming him.

"Ah, um, I'm going to go get the rods," he rushed the words out, pushing against Dream's chest, untangling himself from the other's mess of limbs. He got a confused grunt out of Dream, who fell back against the wall looking distraught. He hated to tear the other's source of comfort away. He rooted through his bag, stopping once he felt a soft piece of wool brush his fingertips. He quickly stuffed the slightly scratchy but otherwise soft material into Dream's arms, getting an even more perplexed look than before. "Hold this while I'm gone."

" _This_ isn't you," Dream's fingers dug into the wool, creasing it heavily. George felt himself melting all over again. 

"I know it isn't, but I wanted to give you something to hold. You look devastated that I'm leaving," George sighed out a laugh, backing away from Dream. Any more time spent with Dream would lead to him curling up against him again. Being weak to someone is always terrifying. _Dream probably feels the same way_. 

"I _am_ devastated," Dream's bottom lip jutted out in a pout worthy of a million compliments and scornful words all in one. "You could get hurt."

"I'm a big boy," George rolled his eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"Stop rolling your eyes," Dream hugged the wool to his chest, even after he had been discrediting its comforting abilities. "You've done it like ten times since I got withered."

"Shut up. No, I haven't," George willed himself not to roll his eyes once again, keeping a glare pitted on Dream's mask. 

"You have too. You just had to try hard not to roll your eyes," amusement crept into Dream's tone as he teased. Annoyance struck with this sentence that was much too true for George to handle. How did Dream see that so well?

"No I did not."

"Sure, angel," Dream's voice hinted at an eye roll of his own, but George's focus went straight to the pet name. Angel. _Angel_. Why did he just get called angel? His body felt like it was on fire. 

"Angel?" George sputtered, covering his face with his hand, eyes wild and wide. Who gave Dream the right to deal a nickname like that?

"Did I say that?" Dream rose his arm to rub the back of his head, only to curse in pain when it became apparent that he lifted his injured shoulder. He instantly retracted his hand as though he had burned it, a dark expression covering his lips. A frown ripped a chasm across Dream's face, a grimace with the strength to kill. George's heart jumped to his throat, eyes locked on the pernicious greyed injury. It was still subtly oozing a deep black substance, a little heavier after Dream moved. It was crumbling, and the movement had only made it split more, caving in on itself. 

"Are you okay?" George's words came like vomit, jumbling on one another at a fast-paced uncontrollable rate. Dream only shook his head, biting his lip again. He probably had his eyes scrunched up in pain, his eyebrows near knitted together in pure reaction. He was plausibly scrunching his nose as well as he tried to contain whatever vulnerable noises would have tumbled from his mouth. He was cradling his arm, most likely trying to keep the injury from pulling in any other direction. "Okay, um, eat."

George kneeled beside Dream, pulling a cooked porkchop from his bag and holding it in front of Dream's abused lips. Dream didn't budge, shallow breaths rising his chest in volatile intervals. George lightly grasped Dream's hand with his own, gently guiding him into a position so that he wasn't coiled uncomfortably. The wool grazed their hands as George laid them down upon it. "Eat for me, Dream." 

Dream reluctantly opened his mouth, allowing George to stick a piece of porkchop into his mouth. Unluckily, George found it hard to peel apart the tough meat with his fingers. Luckily, George had teeth. He pulled the pork apart with a hesitant rip of teeth. Dream didn't show any signs of discomfort or disgust, so George went with it. He didn't feel comfortable making Dream tear the meat apart with his own, weakened jaw. Thinking back on it, George should have chosen a different kind of food. When Dream had fed him, it had been a smart choice of fish, easy to tear from the bone with his hands and easy to chew. Dream ate easily, lips brushing softly over George's fingertips. 

"Do you feel any better?" George asked once they had created more space between them, and Dream was back against the nether brick wall. Dream heaved a heavy sigh, gritting his teeth vexedly. 

"Not really, but thank you," he offered a fake smile. 

"I'm going to go get blaze rods now," George turned around, before remembering that his shield was still on the floor. He walked up to the pile of slightly chipped mass of wood and iron, picking it up with a small grunt. He started walking by Dream again, only to get grabbed by the arm and pulled back into the other's chest. 

"Not without me dumb," Dream's voice was barely above a whisper, quivering with the strain he was going through to stay on his feet. George hurriedly grabbed the other and threw his arm over his shoulder, wrapping a hand around Dream's waist to support him. 

"Are you _kidding_ me? Why do you insist on causing yourself more pain?" George seethed, already struggling to keep Dream standing beside him. It wouldn't have been as hard if Dream had the ability to support his body weight and distribute it evenly instead of lugging it all on George. But, in Dream's state of atrophy he was lucky Dream was even capable of somewhat standing. The man was several inches taller than him, automatically making him weigh more. Dream was like a weight dragging him down into the depths of the ocean. Both of them would end up falling face first into the ground if they didn't get Dream safe and seated again. Being met with the wall in front of them after he got out of his own head wasn't a good mood lifter. "God. I have to break one of the netherrack blocking us."

"Lean me against one you aren't breaking," Dream shuddered against George, gripping his shoulder tightly in another fit of agony. George obliged with his suggestion, pushing Dream into the blockade. The tall man limply collided with the wall, gripping onto it unhappily. "Hard."

"Oops," George didn't shift his slightly annoyed, blank expression from his features. Dream didn't respond verbally, instead, holding up a sad attempt at a confident middle finger. His finger barely lifted from its original position, rising slightly but never enough to tell his meaning. George could tell the intent because of their strangely connected minds. It was easy to figure out Dream related things sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. 

George got to work, chipping away at the netherrack with his pickaxe with no struggle. Mining was an easy feat, nothing more than a few repetitive hits. He finished tearing at the crumbling rock, looking through to make sure the coast was clear before he went back to Dream. 

"Come here," George opened his arms, bracing himself for the weight that would drag him down once again. Dream came crashing forward, compressing George. "Not like that idiot. Why did you just limply fall on me? You're too heavy," George groaned as he tried to readjust Dream. 

"Can't help it," Dream grumbled, obviously trying to take the pressure he was applying off of George. He couldn't do it, the breaking down of his body too much to allow him sound control over his body. "Sorry." 

"Don't apologize, it's— whatever," George sighed, tugging Dream in the direction they needed to walk. He realized that he should have torn down two pieces of netherrack, having to shimmy sideways alongside Dream through the hole. "Your dumbass got hit so."

"You got me—mean all of the sudden," Dream choked over his words, close to making them fall over once again as he swayed away from George.

"Dream, you can't—you can't fall that way. I can't catch you," George struggled to right them, yanking Dream back into his side. He cursed Dream multiple times in his head, although he knew that Dream was most likely doing better than he ever could. That was that Dream had both experience and size on his side. It would go through George's system quickly with his smaller size, decaying his aching bones and muscles faster than it could in Dream's. The fact that Dream was still standing was insane. The grey had extended through more of Dream's veins, darkness overtaking him. He looked like a great evil was clinging to his being, coursing through his veins. In a way, it was. 

"Stop scolding me," Dream hissed, genuinely upset. George could figure that Dream felt oddly useless and vulnerable, making his moods swing. George pointing out his weakness was probably not helping Dream's insecurity. 

"Sorry, I'm just struggling to hold you up," George drudged on, dragging Dream through the seemingly never-ending corridor. "What do you eat?" George attempted to lighten the suffocating tension, perking up when he heard the tiniest of chuckles. 

"Meat that's been in your mouth," Dream wheezed, short-breathed coughs wracking through his chest. George's face lit up with a ferocious blush at the double meaning of the sentence. Why had Dream been able to counter with that so quickly? He thought of it so fast that it was baffling. 

" _Dream_ ," George groaned with frustration. The other man simply giggled more, killing himself further. His laughs were so hard George could feel them vibrate against him. 

" _Haa_ , okay, _whoo_ ," Dream toiled to calm himself down, releasing multiple laughs in his valiant effort. "God, George."

"I didn't do anythin' you're just laughing at yourself," George gave Dream a bewildered look. Dream's mask met his eyes before Dream crumpled in on George, laughing heavier than before. George started to get authentically concerned for Dream, eyes catching the way his skin cracked with each heavy breath. His skin was flaking off in dead layers of dark grey, a constant reminder that Dream was wasting away from the inside out. Dream was undergoing a continuous state of atrophy, his body decaying at an exponential rate. He was in danger, and his laughs seemed to speed the process up. "Dream, explain—" George fished for topics of conversation that would stop Dream from wheezing his life away. "Explain blazes more." 

"One second," Dream took a minute to compose himself, inhaling a deep breath of air. "Okay. What do you want to know?" 

"How should I go about killing them? Any preparation before I go in and potentially catch on fire? Is there any way I can get multiple rods from one blaze?" George loaded up his questions, priming himself for the simplification that Dream would provide. One more inhale on Dream's part, and he was babbling with slight difficulties going over words without stuttering from his sphacelating. 

"You should be careful. I can ride out the withering while you kill the blazes. Take your time. You're allowed to take as much time as you need to have an advantage over them. They have good aim, but only one or two fireballs are going to make contact with you. They can shoot multiple fireballs, usually in quick succession. When that happens, hold up your shield and ride out the wave of them. They are usually on fire, but after shooting, they have to conjure up their flame again. That's when you attack. Get in and out before the next wave of blazes spawn," Dream's constant fumble over words only affected George slightly. Dream was still moderately easy to understand in his flurry of words cascading over one another in a chaotic clash. "What were your other questions?" 

"What do I do before going in, and can I get more than one rod from a single blaze?" George replied helpfully, and patiently. 

"I'm going to walk you through setting up the cauldron so that you can put yourself out faster if caught on fire. You need to get your shield and weapons readied. Set up a wall in front of the cauldron up to the roof so you don't get hit by more fireballs. If the spawner is open, meaning no nether brick above it, be careful of blaze flying around in the air. They can catch you off guard and hit your back. I think that's all for preparation," Dream bit the inside of his cheek in thought, seen in the way it pulled inwards ever-so-slightly. "For your last question, there isn't a way to get more than one from my experience. I don't think it's safe to try ripping them apart while they're still alive, and that's inhumane anyway. They just drop what they drop after they die. That's either none or one."

"Got it... but are you really one to speak on what's inhumane? You have done worse, I'm sure," George wobbled the two of them forward at a steady pace for the first time they started walking together. 

"I probably have. Those times are most likely blocked out of my mind, though."

George didn't try to revive the conversation after that, feeling guilty for accusing. He didn't mean for it to come so harshly, now realizing that he should have just stopped after saying he understood the information given to him. It was an incredibly idiotic thing to say and ruined the whole mood. Dream didn't seem too troubled by what he said, but it was clear that there were some tough feelings with what he's done in the past. He shouldn't have brought it up. Dream was withered, and now he had to deal with what George said being on his mind. George was so dumb sometimes. 

Their silence spoke volumes as they crept down the hallway at an injured pace. Dream was stumbling more often now, unfocused on their task of walking. It was the main sign that told George that he was stuck in his head like a fly in a spider's web, only the spider was George, and the lacework had his words entwined in the sticky silk intricacy. The stifling air around them was only increased in the burning touch of the other. They were precariously walking on eggshells, trying not to make any sounds indicating how they felt. It was a slippery slope of miscommunication beginning with George's words. 

They made it to the blaze spawner, and George sat Dream against the wall as gently as he would a porcelain doll that he cared about exceedingly. They avoided each other's touch afterward, Dream giving his bag to George as softly and carefully as he could. It was a new development that George _hated_. Why were they so cautious of each other because of one thing? 

George gingerly took the cauldron from Dream's bag, realizing that it was going to heat up quickly due to direct contact with the sweltering air. He couldn't stand the suffocating taciturnity between them. His hands also couldn't stand the warming metal he was holding absently. He stumbled over to the short hallway leading to the blaze spawner as quickly as he could, placing the cauldron down and running back to Dream. When his eyes landed on the other man, he was extending a water bucket out to him wordlessly. George almost had half the mind to give Dream a deep frown.

"Thank you," George rasped, grabbing the bucket from Dream's hands, making a point to run his fingers along the other's knuckles in a gentle brush. Dream withdrew his hands quickly, almost making the water tip over into a sizzling pile of evaporation. George didn't suppress the frown that overtook his lips at the action. 

"Mm," Dream nodded, angling his face away from George. George's frown only grew. 

"Guess I'm gonna go up in flames," George turned around, hoping Dream would say something before he took off down the unblocked hallway. "If I don't make it back alive, I'm sorry for bringing up touchy subjects," George realized that it was likely that he could die, and having a guilty conscience wasn't something he wanted to go out with.

"Shut up," Dream's echoing voice spoke from behind him. It wasn't booming. He wasn't yelling, the hall just enhanced it. George relished in the demand, turning back around to speak directly to Dream. He was turned towards George, hand fiddling with his bag. "You aren't going to die. You also don't need to apologize. I know." 

"I told you one time that I wasn't good at expressing emotions, and you're an expert?" George eyed Dream suspiciously. Dream's mouth twitched up into a smile. 

"Naturally," his smile curved into a smirk. 

"Sure, sure," George rolled his eyes playfully. 

"Seriously though, you were oozing guilt the entire walk here," Dream's posture grew slightly more unconfident. 

"Oh yes, what everyone wants to hear, 'you ooze emotion,'" George mocked, putting on a different tone of voice. 

"I was just saying," Dream pouted, reaching out to George with grabby hands. 

"You used the word ooze to describe it," George raised an eyebrow, laughing gently. 

"I could have described it better, I know," Dream flexed his hands, indirectly asking for George to come closer. The other obliged, walking towards Dream in soft clicks of foot against brick. 

"Yes, you could have," George gazed down at Dream affectionately before crouching down to his sitting height. Dream grabbed George's hand, interlocking their fingers, and rubbing the pad of his thumb over George's knuckle. 

"Luckily I have you to point it out, huh?" Dream pulled George's hand towards his face, twisting his own out of it. He still held onto George's hand, gently and not interlocked. He gave George a soft baisemain, a gentle kiss on the hand. "You'll beat those blazes until they're dust, yeah?"

"Yeah," George grinned at Dream. He looked so sweet and small, his pale lips grazing George's knuckles like they were fragile. George's heart felt warm. "I'll get us a step closer to leaving."

"I'll help when I don't feel like my insides are on fire," a sorry laugh pattered along the hall's walls. 

"Make sure you are fully healed before helping me please," George gave Dream a look that told of how upset he would be if Dream joined in without having fully recovered. 

"Got it."

"Got it?"

"Got it. You didn't have to ask twice."

"I wanted to make sure, be quiet."

"No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole chapter is basically wither effect = ouch  
> the descriptions were kinda fun in this one :) Their interactions? <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first time posting on this site so I have no idea how to do it lol  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy! :)


End file.
